Murdock's Christmas Dozen
by Sandilynn Petersen
Summary: A series of twelve scenes, some sad, some silly, from Murdock's past and present, all based in some way on Christmas songs or carols. Merry Christmas! Now complete.
1. Chapter 1 Hark!

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Around our pillows golden ladders rise,  
And up and down the skies,  
With winged sandals shod,  
The angels come, and go, the Messengers of God!  
~Richard Henry Stoddard

1 Hark!

"'N' there were in th' same country shepherds abidin' in th' field, keepin' watch over their flock by night. 'N', lo, th' angel o' th' Lord came 'pon 'em . . . " The high school senior reading the lines paused, waiting for the makeshift white drape to rise from where it hid part of the stage from view.

"Watch yer step, Buttercup," fifteen-year-old H. M. Murdock whispered to Cynthia Berquon as she put her foot on the first rung of the ladder. "Don' wanna see if ya can fly fer real."

"Jus' catch me if I fall, H. M. Don' let me break my halo." She gave him a light kiss on the cheek and smiled.

Standing beside her, Murdock placed his hand on the small of her back as she ascended to take her place as the angel of the Lord. One of her glittered feathery wings brushed his face as she stepped higher. It left gold sparkles on his cheek.

He held his breath watching her. If it was up to him, they wouldn't be using a rickety old ladder for this scene. But he wasn't sure what they would replace it with.

_It's gotta be somethin' Mrs. Bartleman'll agree to. 'N' it's gotta be safer 'n this. _

The ladder creaked several times before she got to the top.

As soon as he saw she was ready, he ducked behind the heavy board backdrop painted to look like hills and sky and gave Hollis Latreque the signal. The white drape floated up to reveal the scene. An offstage guitarist plunked the notes to "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" as the narrator continued.

". . . 'n' th' glory o' th' Lord shone . . . " The four elementary school-aged children dressed in their white choir robes and tinsel haloes waited offstage, two on each side, for their cue.

Mrs. Bartleman shook her head in annoyed dissatisfaction.

"Cut!" she called. "Cynthia, dear, you have to be quieter when you get up on that stepladder. The angel of the Lord does not _squeak_."

Before Cyndy could say anything, Murdock poked his head around the backdrop and coughed to get their church play director's attention. "Beg pardon, Missus Bartleman, but there ain' no way in Heaven _anyone's_ gonna climb that ladder without it makin' noise. Cyndy's 'bout the lightest gal in th' entire church 'n' if she can' do it . . . "

The director's face reddened, not a very nice accompaniment to the dye she used to color her hair. He hesitated to say anything more. Besides being the church play director, Mrs. Bartleman taught Murdock, Cynthia and Hollis in her eleventh grade English class at the Sour Lake public school.

_Here comes my failin' grade. _

From offstage, Hollis snickered. In a barely audible whisper, he mocked Murdock. "Boy're _you_ stupid. Ya _never_ question th' boss lady."

Murdock couldn't pay attention to his high school nemesis and his taunts. He stood at the base of the ladder, anxiously looking up as Cyndy backed down toward him.

A heel on her gold-colored sandal slipped on a middle rung and she lost her grip on the ladder. Falling backwards, she found herself in Murdock's arms.

Surprised, he blurted, "Oopsy. Careful, darlin'."

Embracing her waist, he blew feathers from one wing away from his face as he lifted her off the ladder.

"That was close," he breathed. He set her down facing him and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Ya okay, Buttercup?" Placing his hands on her slender shoulders he searched her face for any sign she was in pain.

Her gold-sequined halo tipped precariously to one side. She took two shaky breaths before repositioning it and nodding. Trembling slightly at the near fall, she murmured, "Nice catch."

Murdock shook his head, his mouth in a firm line as he glared at the ladder. He emerged from behind the backdrop to argue with his English teacher. "This ain' safe, Missus Bartleman. Ya a'most lost yer angel o' th' Lord on th' stage floor."

Even though the director was frustrated with the interruption to the program rehearsal, he could see she would accept a good alternative to the ladder. The reddish tinge to her facial features had grown noticeably pale as she eyed the ladder and her lead angel standing behind Murdock, clutching his sleeve.

_She don' wanna make Cyndy climb that ladder either. She knows Cyndy almost got hurt. _

"Then what exactly do you suggest, Mister Murdock?" The director bristled back at him.

He gulped several times.

_Now I did it. I gotta come up with somethin' quick. _

"Let me think on that, Missus Bartleman, 'n' I'll see what I can come up with."

_'N' now I committed myself t' figurin' somethin' out. _

"Let me know by tomorrow's rehearsal, Mister Murdock. Places, angels. We'll rehearse your song."

He needed to find a place to think. Somewhere where dim lighting would keep him from being distracted. Leaping from the stage, he slowly made his way to the back of the hall the church had rented and plopped into a crushed red velvet theater seat.

Cyndy peeked at him as she stood at the center of the four angelic cherubs. The guitar plinked its tune and the five angels sang.

Murdock gazed at Cyndy and thought about how much like a real angel she was to him.

_Who else'd stick 'round 'n' take care o' me when Pa beats me up? I'm one lucky guy. _

Then his eyes landed on Hollis Latreque who seemed to take special satisfaction in making his school days hell on Earth. Murdock lowered his gaze and picked at his fingernails, trying to figure out a better way for Cyndy to appear center stage. Latreque gave her a leering glance before sauntering toward Murdock.

"Hark! Th' herald angels sing.  
'Glory to th' newborn King!  
Peace on earth 'n' mercy mild,  
God 'n' sinners reconciled.'  
Joyful, all ye nations rise . . . "

It was then that Murdock had a glimmer of an idea. "Rise?" he muttered. He dug in the pockets of his blue denim work jacket and found the stub of a pencil and a folded piece of notebook paper. Remembering the 1960 television production of "Peter Pan" and what he read about how Mary Martin flew through the air, he began to sketch something.

_All Cyndy's gotta do is t' be lifted up 'n' hover over th' shepherds. A harness 'n' a rope 'n' a strong guy t' lift 'er . . . _

He felt Hollis's warm breath on his neck as he leaned over his shoulder and peered at Murdock's sketch. "Figures ya'd have somethin' where she'd be up in th' air. How's that any safer?"

The next second, Hollis tore the paper from his hands and squinted at it. "'N' is that Snoopy ya got hangin' up there 'bove stage? Can't tell." He moved toward the exit with Murdock's sketch, taking out his cigarette lighter as he did. "I'm gonna hafta look at this with some better light."

The last thing Murdock heard was Hollis's amused chuckle as the door shut after him.

"I saw what Hollis did, H. M." Cyndy stood in front of him, looking for all the world like the angel she was portraying in the program. She crossed her arms and frowned at the door where Hollis left. "You put in all that work 'n' he ruins it for you."

_Angels ain' s'posed t' frown, specially not my Buttercup. _

Murdock shrugged and gave her a half-hearted smile. "It's okay. I got th' plan up here already where he can' touch it." He tapped his temple with one finger and sprang to his feet. "Let's go talk t' Missus Bartleman. I think she'll like it."

To Be Continued.

The next chapter is not from Murdock's youth.


	2. Chapter 2 Bells Ring-A-Ling

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

2 Bells Ring-A-Ling

Christmas is the happiness that lights our children's eyes.  
Christmas is a song of bells ringing through the skies.  
Christmas is a time of peace, of contentment deep within,  
A time of love and silent hope that years will never dim. -Sherrill Thompson ("Christmas Is . . .")

B. A. woke. Something had changed in the darkened room to wake him and he didn't know what. The street light outside the apartment Face currently scammed for them was still on. Its light beamed steadily through the gap in the curtains at the window. It was the only light in the room.

A shadow passed from left to right between the window and his bed, fleetingly blocking the light. Silently he reached for the pistol under his pillow, keeping his eyes on what appeared to be an intruder.

The shadow paused and seemed to look straight at the bed where B. A. lay. The Sergeant relaxed to give the impression of sleep. Then it passed in front of the window again, this time going from right to left.

Whoever the dark figure was, he was humming under his breath, an impatient sound kept low so as not to disturb the sleeping man. The Sergeant thought he remembered the song . . . he couldn't be sure . . . but he was positive he recognized the voice.

_Murdock! Crazy fool coulda got hisself killed. _

Retracting his hand from under the pillow and reaching toward the bedside light instead, he turned it on and sat up in the bed. The pilot paused in his pacing, his hand shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness, and grinned.

"Oh, you're 'wake." Noticing the angry bleary-eyed scowl the black man directed his way, Murdock's grin faded. He dropped his gaze, suddenly more interested in picking his fingernails than meeting B. A.'s glare.

"What you doin' in here, fool? It's . . . " B. A. glanced at the clock beside the bed. A low growl started in his chest and exploded from his mouth. "What you think you're doin', fool? _It's four in the mornin'!_" He scrutinized the other man from head to toe. A puzzled frown replaced the scowl. "Ain' you been ta bed yet? Why're you all dressed?"

"Well . . . " Murdock swallowed heavily and shifted his weight a couple of times from foot to foot, looking for all the world like a little kid caught peeking at the gifts under the tree before anyone else was awake.

"Well?"

Murdock mumbled an explanation but the words were too low for B. A. to hear. It might have been an apology because he started to edge toward the door.

"Well, now that I'm awake ya might as well tell me what's goin' on." The Sergeant sat up straighter and crossed his burly arms.

_An' it better be good. Been drivin' for twenty-four hours, only been ta sleep for one. Yeah, it better be on the level of "Decker's got the buildin' surrounded an' we gotta get outta here." _

"Ya said ya wanted ta get t' th' youth center early b'fore th' kids got there t' start plannin' some special stuff for 'em for Christmas." Murdock swayed back and forth as if trying to decide whether to run for the door or not.

"I didn' mean _this_ early."

_That's Murdock for ya. Don't tell him exactly when and he assumes early means before the sun comes up. _

Murdock got a remorseful look on his face and dug his toe into the worn carpet. He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and cast his gaze on the floor. "Sorry I woke ya up too soon. I thought ya'd forget 'n' leave me b'hind. Does that mean ya ain' gonna take me with ya t' th' center now?" His voice trailed off at the end.

_So that's what this is about. _

The youth center volunteer thought back to the conversation in the van as they returned to L. A. the previous evening. Face had something else to do the next day but he promised his help with whatever anyone else planned. Hannibal said he would leave it up to B. A. to decide what they would do for the youth center kids. He would be there later in the day to go to the store for any supplies they would need.

That had left Murdock. He remembered the pilot's expression, a combination of hesitation for fear B. A. would refuse his ideas and buoyant joy with his own thoughts about what they could do. In the end, B. A. grumbled out something that was more a half-hearted invitation than anything. It kept everyone happy but set the pilot on something like a sugar-high in a little kid.

_Maybe he thought it was more than an invite. _

"No. It don't mean I ain' gonna take ya. I promised, didn't I?" The relief in the pilot's face almost made B. A. smile. Almost. If he did, he wouldn't get any more rest so instead he glowered at the Captain, plumped his pillow and reached for the bedside lamp. "Now go back ta your own room until it's time ta get ready ta go."

"Will do, Big Guy. See ya in a while then." Before B. A. could tell Murdock what time he was planning on going, the pilot was out the door and down the short hallway, merrily humming as he went.

_I shouldn't hafta tell him. Should I? _

With that nagging thought, the Sergeant drifted back to sleep . . .

oooooo

. . . to be awakened by a rhythmic loud metallic ringing next to his ear and Murdock's baritone voice chiming in with the accompanying melody.

"Hark! How th' bells,  
Sweet silver bells,  
All seem t' say,  
'Throw cares 'way.'"

B. A. swiped his eyes with his hand and then used it to swat at whatever was disturbing his sleep.

"Murdock! I'm gonna hang ya out the window if ya don't stop that racket!" The Sergeant opened one eye, sensing the pilot had stepped away from the bed.

"Wakey, wakey, B. A. It's six in th' mornin' 'n' I fixed us some breakfast." the pilot chimed from the corner of the room. B. A. noticed he had retreated a safe distance away and out of immediate reach. He shook a wooden-handled bell similar to what a volunteer with the Salvation Army would wield and sang the next lines.

"Christmas is here,  
Bringin' good cheer  
To young 'n' old,  
Meek 'n' the bold."

Murdock paused for a moment to add, "Bold. That's you, Big Guy."

B. A. sniffed the air. Freshly brewed coffee and the smell of bacon wafted through his bedroom doorway.

_Least he's tryin'. He waited two hours this time b'fore wakin' me up. _

"Gotta have lotsa energy goin' to th' brain cells t' think o' some good stuff for th' kids for Christmas, don' we?" Murdock jangled the bell again and grinned.

_Still too early but long as the fool's gone ta all the trouble . . . _

B. A. yawned and stretched, sitting up on the side of the bed facing the pilot. He seemed to be waiting expectantly for something.

"I can get th' van heated up 'n' ready t' go . . . " Murdock suggested and then ducked the pillow thrown at him. He blinked a couple of times in bewilderment before heading for the door. "Okay then. I'll jus' be waitin' in th' kitchen with yer breakfast."

As soon as the Captain disappeared out the door and shut it behind him, B. A. heard him ringing the bell and singing again.

"Ding, dong, ding, dong,  
That is their song  
With joyful ring,  
All caroling.  
One seems t' hear  
Words o' good cheer  
From ev'rywhere  
Fillin' th' air . . . "

_Crazy fool! _

oooooo

When the Sergeant got to the kitchen, the Colonel was already there, yawning vigorously. Hannibal looked as if he could have gotten twelve more hours of sleep if allowed to.

_Fool musta woke the Colonel up same time he woke me. _

He knew Hannibal would say nothing to the Captain about his own lack of sleep or Murdock's cheerful, over-exuberant greeting. As B. A. took his place at the table, their cook hummed more of the carol he had been singing and slid two plates in front of his CO and his team-mate.

"There ya go, guys. Plenty more where that came from so don' be shy 'bout askin' fer seconds." He winked at B. A. "Or thirds."

_Least he ain' ringin' that bell no more. _

The pilot leaned over the kitchen sink, busily scrubbing the pans he had used to prepare breakfast. His own breakfast sat on a plate getting cold. "It's a beautiful mornin', ain' it, guys? Faceman don' know what he's missin'."

_From what I heard, Faceman ain' missin' much. Who was it last night? Some blonde called Felicity? _

Taking a deep breath, Murdock started on the song he had been singing all morning. B. A. softly groaned.

"Hark! How th' bells,  
Sweet silver bells,  
All seem t' say,  
'Throw cares 'way.'  
Christmas is here,  
Bringin' good cheer  
To young 'n' old,  
Meek 'n' th' bold . . . "

The Sergeant flashed a dangerous look at the older man at the table and then at the songster at the sink.

_If he's gonna do that all the way ta the youth center, I might just . . . _

Hannibal caught the Sergeant's eye and shook his head. B. A. grimaced.

_I ain' gonna get any help from Hann'bal on this one. _

"Captain? A question for you." The Colonel paused over his plate, his fork ready to pierce an over-easy egg yolk.

"Oh how happy are their tones.  
Gaily they ring . . . "

Murdock stopped singing and turned to his CO. A puzzled and apprehensive look replaced his earlier joyous mood. "What's wrong? Did I burn somethin'? 'R is it my singin'?" His dark eyes darted to the black man sitting opposite the Colonel. "B'cause I'll stop if ya want me to . . . jus' thought . . . well . . . jus' thought it'd get us all in th' spirit t' think o' Christmas . . . "

Hannibal held up a hand to stop the flow of apologetic words. "No. No, it isn't the food and it isn't your singing." B. A. scowled at the Colonel and received a warning look in reply. "I don't think I've ever heard 'Carol of the Bells' done solo before. It's always been a choir or an instrumental."

Murdock relaxed, a relieved grin coming back to his face. "Yeah, I know. But we don' have a choir 'n' I 'member all th' words from when we sang it in high school. One o' th' happiest Christmas songs I know."

Another deep breath and he began where he left off.

"While people sing  
Songs o' good cheer,  
Christmas is here . . . "

He paused for a second to gleefully add, "'Kay, here's one o' my fav'rite parts . . .

"Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas,  
Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas . . . "

Hannibal smiled indulgently at the incredibly merry Captain as he carried on with cleaning everything in sight in the kitchen. He quickly finished his food and rose from the table. Murdock continued singing, interrupting himself only to wave and interject, "See ya at th' youth center, Colonel!" He proceeded to scrub the countertops and sink until B. A. was sure the laminated wood and stainless steel was going to come off on the dish rag.

As the Sergeant walked Hannibal to the door, he muttered, "Don' know why I said I'd bring him ta the center today. If he's gonna sing all the way . . . "

The Colonel placed a gloved hand on his shoulder and gave him a silencing look. "Do you want a happy Captain or do you want him to bottle it all up and get depressed because he can't expend his energy or enthusiasm?"

"Aw, Hannibal," B. A. groaned. He knew the Colonel was right. "But you don' hafta be in the van with him singin' the same song for twenty 'r more minutes."

They both tilted their heads to listen to the suddenly louder and more boisterous tune.

"On, on they send,  
On without end,  
Their joyful tone  
To ev'ry home.  
Ding, dong, ding, dong."

"Ya think he's finished?" the Sergeant asked, hope in his voice. Hannibal put a finger to his lips.

A second passed, then . . .

"Hark! How th' bells,  
Sweet silver bells,  
All seem t' say,  
'Throw cares away . . . '"

"That does it, Hannibal! If he don' stop soon, I'm gonna hafta duct tape his mouth shut." The Sergeant tensed as the "Merry, merry, merry . . . " part neared.

"Look at it this way, B. A. Maybe you can suggest you both sing 'Silent Night' on your drive." Hannibal ducked out of the door before the Sergeant could respond.

Glancing gloomily at the pilot standing up on a kitchen chair to polish the overhead light fixture, B. A. shook his head and sighed.

_Maybe he'll run outta breath halfway there. _


	3. Chapter 3 Fa-la-la-la-la

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

3 Fa-la-la-la-la

Christmas now surrounds us,  
Happiness is everywhere,  
Our hands are busy with many tasks  
As carols fill the air. -Shirley Sallay ("Just a Few Minutes")

By the time Hannibal got there, parents hurrying to get to minimum wage jobs had dropped off three younger children at the youth center.

The two boys were eating toast, lavishly spread with butter and grape jelly. It was often the only breakfast their parents could offer. One of the women at the center made sure they stayed at a small table while eating and kept a washcloth near for the purple smears on their chins and hands.

"Yup, Colonel. That's what I said. We need _all_ this stuff." Murdock handed Hannibal a light blue envelope on which he composed the shopping list. The faint strains of "Deck the Halls" played over a record player in the corner of the room.

The skinny dark-haired girl of the trio of first-comers cast deep blue eyes on Murdock as he spoke. A shy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when he turned and winked at her. She gripped B. A.'s hand a bit tighter and hid her face behind his burly arm.

"I tol' the fool we had a buncha Christmas decorations stored away in a closet here somewhere but he wasn't gonna listen. You tell him, Hannibal," B. A. grumbled.

"Well, I don 't know, B. A. Let me look at this list and see what he's come up with." The Colonel took the cigar from his mouth and read the items out loud, a puzzled frown appearing as he read.

"Shepherd's hook candy canes, wrapped peppermint candies, whole fresh cranberries, not out of a can, popcorn to pop . . . " Hannibal looked up at the pilot. "Are we snacking or decorating the building?"

"Well, I thought maybe we could use maraschino cherries 'n' pickles but after a couple o' days they might stink up th' place. B'sides, B. A. said no t' that." The Captain crossed his arms, sticking his lower lip out in a small pout.

The child holding onto the big man's hand smiled.

"Who ever hearda decoratin' a place with cherries an' pickles like that?" B. A. snorted.

It was difficult for Hannibal to figure out sometimes if the pilot was serious about something or just trying to see what kind of reaction he would get. Right now, Murdock seemed to be serious.

"German fam'lies hang a glass pickle orn'ment on th' tree ever'y Christmas Eve last thing while th' kids're sleepin'. First one t' see where it is on th' tree gets an extra present. Just thought if one pickle was good, a bunch'd be better, one for each kid that comes here." Murdock nodded insistently to make his point. "'Course then we'd hafta have an extra gift for all o' them. But it'd be worth it, wouldn' it?"

The little girl's eyes grew larger and more wistful at the mention of presents. Nobody but Murdock noticed the somber look on her face. His gaze softened as he contemplated the change in her expression.

Hannibal thought for a second as he considered what the pilot said. Sometimes Murdock made a lot more sense in his reasoning than in his practicality. Hesitating for a moment, the older man scanned the Captain's face for a trace of a smile. He found none. "I see. And the maraschino cherries?"

"Well, the pickles're green 'n' ya gotta have some red mixed in. Red 'n' green're traditional Christmas colors, y' know. B'sides they're sweet 'n' if the pickles're sour . . . " Murdock shrugged as B. A. impatiently shook his head and the little girl giggled at the pilot's logic.

"Of course." Hannibal returned to the list and scanned the next few items. "Okay, I think I see what you want to do. Heavy thread, a pack of sewing needles . . . "

"Better make 'em needles with big eyes so we don' have t' strain our eyes t' thread 'em. Better for th' youngsters, too. Then they can help us." Murdock clasped his hands together behind his back and peered over the older man's shoulder at the paper envelope.

The little girl looked up at B. A. and smiled. "You said I could help, didn'tcha, Mister B?" she said in almost a whisper.

"Sure did, Katie," the big man replied, gently squeezing the small hand.

"Right." The Colonel smiled, not sure what Katie's special story was.

It seemed almost every kid that was dropped off at the center had one. And this one was how old? Five, six, maybe. Hannibal focused on the list in his hand rather than the dark smudges and anxious lines in Katie's face. "Silver and gold garland, pine boughs, gold foil paper . . . Maybe we should divide it up and send Face to get some of this."

"No can do, Colonel. Faceman said he's gotta help Felicity untangle her Christmas lights 'n' put up her stockin'." The pilot shook his head as he said it. B. A. snorted again. Katie tilted her head to one side as if trying to figure out what the joke was.

"I bet." Hannibal was pretty sure any Christmas stocking the young model had was silky, thigh-high and came with a red garter to hold it up but he wasn't going to say so. Not in front of the kids.

"Yeah, well, knowing my bestest buddy, that could take all day long. So we gotta do this pretty much by ourselves." The pilot followed Hannibal to the door, being sure to emphasize they needed _fresh_, not _canned_, cranberries. Katie and B. A. listened, the girl with an amused twinkle in her eye and B. A. with a resigned air.

When he returned, Murdock removed his navy blue cap and scratched his head. "I tol' Felicity we were gonna be doin' this. Maybe _she'll_ get Faceman movin' t' help us."

"Don't hold yer breath, fool." The comment may not have been loud enough for Murdock to hear but Katie heard.

She tugged at B. A.'s hand and gazed up at him with large trusting eyes. "Why do you call Mister Murdock 'fool' all the time?"

The pilot turned and cocked his head, a smile on his face. Squatting to look the little girl in the eyes, he murmured, "It's b'cause th' Big Guy ain' got th' Christmas spirit yet. Tell me, Katie darlin', do _you_ have th' spirit?"

She nodded her head up and down solemnly. "Yes sir. I've been singin' Christmas songs since Thanksgiving hoping Momma'd start feelin' better. But she don't seem to. And she's gotta work so long, she gets real tired and cranky."

Murdock got a concerned frown on his face and glanced up at B. A., silently asking a question with his look.

The Sergeant shook his head. He knew the situation but he wasn't about to explain anything in front of Katie. He was amazed when Murdock seemed to understand without him saying a word.

"Bein' as cheerful 'n' helpful 'round home as ya can when your Momma's sick is a really brave thing t' do, li'l darlin'. 'N' I bet you're keepin' her as happy as ya can, ain'tcha?" The pilot's sympathetic brown eyes flickered over her face for a moment.

She nodded and sniffled, a single tear trickling down her cheek. He opened his arms wide and she hugged him, her arms around his neck.

B. A. saw the pilot swallow a couple of times, his eyes distant as if remembering something from his past. Then the moment was over and Katie released her hold.

But the haunted look didn't completely leave Murdock's eyes. Not even when he asked her what song she most liked to sing.

She scuffed the toe of one worn-out vinyl penny loafer against the linoleum floor and thought for a few seconds. "I don't know." A warm smile came back to her face and she beamed at him. "I like _all_ of 'em."

Murdock smiled back. "Okay then, we'll try 'n' sing all o' them. If the Big Guy here wants t' dig out those dec'rations from the closet, you 'n' me can see what we can do with what we got. You just wait here, Katie darlin', 'n' we'll be right back."

He followed B. A. to a closet down a hallway. As the Sergeant reached up on a shelf and took down a box filled with lights and plastic ornaments, Murdock glanced back toward the main room and cleared his throat.

"I don' wanna pry but that li'l girl . . . she's got a buncha hurt in her world, don' she." His quiet voice was almost too soft for B. A. to hear.

"Katie?" B. A. shoved a box into the pilot's arms, scrutinizing his face as he did. The pensive look had returned. The Sergeant grunted, not sure what he should say.

"Her momma . . . ?" Murdock paused, staring down into the depths of the box in his arms. B. A. suspected he wasn't really seeing the contents of the box but something sadder than faded Christmas decorations.

"Her momma's never been too healthy. Gets bad colds this time of year. This year the cold's got worse over time. We been tryin' to get her to go see a doctor . . . "

Murdock nodded, the reflective cast to his face making B. A. wonder what he was thinking. "How old's Katie?"

"Five."

A small shudder passed through the pilot's body but he said nothing, just looked past B. A. to the room where Katie waited.

Several seconds passed. "You okay, man?" B. A. put a hand on Murdock's shoulder.

The pilot turned his meditative eyes to the big man and smiled weakly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

B. A. returned to rummaging in the closet.

He sensed Murdock hadn't moved. Glancing at the Captain, he raised his eyebrows. "Anything else?"

"Ya don' mind if I get Katie t' sing some songs with me, do ya?" The hesitation with which Murdock said it reminded the black man of that morning.

B. A. thought back to his anger and impatience over the song Murdock kept repeating and regretted for a moment reacting that way.

"As long as ya don' keep singin' the same songs over an' over again, guess it'd be okay. Cheer her up some."

Murdock cast his gaze down into the box again and hesitated.

"Anythin' else buggin' ya?" The Sergeant wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. He wasn't good at dealing with Murdock's moodier side when it showed.

"Naw. Jus' . . . thanks, B. A."

The Sergeant shrugged and lifted another two boxes down from a shelf.

By the time B. A. brought the boxes out to Katie and Murdock, the pilot had managed to drape a long string of Christmas lights from the floor, around one hand, along his arm, across his shoulders, around his neck and over to his other hand. He nodded to the woman watching the two boys and she plugged the lights in.

"You look like a Christmas tree, Mister Murdock," Katie cheered, clapping her hands.

He grinned as the multi-colored lights flashed on and off randomly along the length of the string. "Guess I do, but that's deck th' halls, Katie sweetie, not deck th' Murdock." He glanced up as Hannibal came in the door, bearing a bag from a local grocery store. Setting the lights aside, he added, "'N' here's Hann'bal with the stuff t' string. Ya ready for some fun?"

B. A. smiled to himself as the pilot and the little girl walked hand in hand to greet the Colonel. Later as they all poked needle and thread through popcorn and cranberries to make decorative chains, he was even tempted to sing along with Murdock and Katie as they belted out "Deck the Halls."


	4. Chapter 4 Christmas Tree

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

4. Christmas Tree

Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall. Larry Wilde

The youth center door opened. Murdock and Katie glanced up from their garland project but all either could see was a quivering tree with legs under it filling the opening. He nudged the five-year-old and grinned. "I think I know who's b'hind yonder foliage."

"That's a really big tree!" the little girl gasped. The pilot wondered what kind of tree Katie's mother had at her home if what Face had in his arms was 'big.'

_Sure, it's a'most big 's Faceman but it ain' filled out like some o' those trees I seen. It's a li'l on th' scrawny side actually. _

B. A. scowled and made his way past a quartet of teen boys poring over months-old car magazines, donated by a clinic changing out its choice of reception area reading material.

"'Bout time ya got here, Faceman. I ain' even gonna ask what kept ya . . . " The Sergeant effortlessly grabbed the pine in one hand and carried it over to the stand waiting by one of the tables.

"Well, sure. You're welcome, B. A. I just brought one of the most important decorations, got pine pitch all over the upholstery of my 'Vette, not to mention what it did to my suit jacket . . . " The con man grimaced at a few pine needles clinging to his lapel and then, realizing how he sounded, smiled at the blonde clinging to his right arm. His voice became less strident, more charming. ". . . But what's a little pitch if it brings someone a merry Christmas?"

The Captain smirked.

_That's th' spirit, oh buddy o' mine. _

"That'd be Felicity decoratin' th' arm o' my best buddy, darlin'." Murdock murmured the information to the little girl sitting by his side with a bowl of popcorn in her lap.

"She looks like a nice lady," Katie whispered back. "You think she'll help us string popcorn and cranberries, Murdock?" The pilot had convinced the small child he didn't need to have any formal title like 'Mister' to be her friend.

Murdock tried to keep himself from laughing.

_Outta th' mouths o' babes. Not Face's kind o' babe either. _

The Captain eyed the pretty blonde up and down, noting the clinging short sweater dress and gold earrings and necklace she wore. He had to admit, Felicity knew how to accentuate her best features.

_Not my type o' gal but she is real cute in a Brigette Bardot kind o' way. _

He paused in poking a cranberry with a needle and raised his eyebrows in thought, then looked down at the child. "Don' know, Katie. Face's special woman friends ain' usually real talented when it comes t' needle 'n' thread type o' stuff."

"What're they good at?"

_Now how do I answer that? _

Murdock noticed the little girl seemed to suddenly become very shy. She slid closer to him and clutched his arm, spilling a few pieces of popcorn out of the bowl as she did.

When he returned his gaze to the con man and the model he saw the reason. As Face and Felicity strolled over to the couch where the pilot and child sat with their bowls, needles and thread and homemade garland, Katie shrank into the couch cushions and pressed closer to Murdock's ribs.

The pilot dropped his needle and thread into his lap and instinctively wrapped his arm around the child's shoulders. He couldn't figure out why she would react the way she was but if she was just shy . . .

_. . . she needs time t' get used t' new folks she don' know. _

He understood that. There was a time when he was a kid, before he came to grips with being different from everyone else, when he was painfully shy.

He tried unsuccessfully to get Face's attention before they made it all the way to the couch.

"So this is where you're hiding. I guess Hannibal got everything you needed?" Face flashed his trademark smile at his friend and swung his arm over Felicity's shoulder. "You didn't ask him for pickles and maraschino cherries like you asked me last Christmas, did you? It took the better part of a month to get the cherry stains off the drapes and the smell out of the living room."

Murdock could feel Katie's arms creep around his waist as she tried to avoid attention. "Well . . . "

Felicity's gaze wandered to the half-finished garland in Katie's lap. Her eyes widened.

"You aren't doing what I think you're doing, are you?" She left Face's half-embrace and knelt in front of the child's feet. Looking up at her, she added, "You know, back in Nebraska, my Mom used to do this with me and my sisters every Christmas."

"Well, how 'bout that? My Gramma always got me t' help her. Said I needed t' thread th' needle for 'er." Murdock smiled.

Her gaze intent on the blonde model, Katie pressed closer to the pilot. He absently patted her shoulder as the memory tugged at his heart.

Face frowned behind Felicity's back and mouthed the word "Nebraska?"

Not seeing his expression, Felicity looked around and grabbed the packet of needles, then glanced at Murdock with an apology on her face. "You wouldn't mind me helping, would you? I haven't done this for so long."

The question surprised Murdock and brought him back to the present.

_Who would o' thought? _

Face shot the pilot a bleak look that could have meant just about anything.

_I bet he figured it'd be a quick in 'n' out visit. Jus' drop off th' tree 'n' then skedaddle. _

"I don' mind if Katie here don' mind. She's kind o' the boss o' this project." His comment brought a shy smile to the little girl's face. He hoped his helper would allow the model to stay if just to prevent his best buddy from leaving so soon. They could use his assistance later when it came to decorating the tree if he was willing to give it.

_But if she ain' comf'table with anyone but me 'n' th' Big Guy . . . _

"I'm okay with it if Murdock's okay with it," Katie murmured, focusing on a piece of popcorn she was trying to pierce with the needle. She stayed close beside him, relaxing a little when the pilot squeezed her shoulder in thanks.

"Felicity, sweetheart, we were going to go Christmas shopping . . . " Face started.

"Oh, but we can go shopping anytime, Temp. We already decorated my place and I'm still in the mood." The model pushed her lips together in a pretty pout. Murdock took a deep breath to avoid the snicker that wanted so badly to come out.

_Ain' th' kind o' mood my buddy'd like her t' be in, lookin' at his face. _

"Here. Let me get a needle threaded for you." Felicity removed a needle from the packet. Katie offered her a spool of thread. The pilot forced himself to focus on a cranberry in his fingers.

_This should be interestin'. _

The con man put his hands up chest-level, palms out, and backed away two steps. "Needles and me don't go well together."

"Yeah, over in Nam, every time my buddy needed a seam mended 'r a button sewn, he got some mama-san t' do it." Murdock darted a mischievous glance at Face and received a black look in reply.

"Then what _are_ you going to do to make sure these kids have a nice Christmas?" Felicity narrowed her eyes at him.

The pilot glanced at the blonde model, then at his buddy and held his breath.

_Wrong answer's gonna make Faceman's Christmas not so bright. _

"Well . . . " The con man's mouth opened and closed a couple of times as his eyes scanned the room for something that he could do that wouldn't involve getting dirty or losing his dignity. He spotted the upright piano against one wall.

"What if I provide some special live music?"

Strolling over to the piano, he ran his fingers up and down its dusty off-white keys.

"Ya gonna play that thing or make noise?" B. A. growled from his place near the Christmas tree. He was still sorting out ornaments from the storage boxes. "Here. Lemme turn off the record player."

Before Face could say 'yes' or 'no,' the Sergeant removed the record from the turntable and turned off the machine. "All yours, Faceman." As he passed by the Lieutenant to finish what he was doing, he muttered, "Make it good.

Katie nudged Murdock. "Does your friend know how to play? Really?"

The pilot noticed Felicity had turned to him, waiting for his answer. "Uh . . . yeah . . . he knows how t' play," he mumbled.

At the same time, he hoped, for Face's sake, he knew something besides 'You Are My Sunshine.'

_Hope ya know what yer doin', buddy. _

Face drew the bench back from its recess under the keyboard and brushed the surface off with an immaculate white handkerchief he took from his jacket pocket. Sitting down, he thought for a moment.

Quickly playing a few arpeggios and clearing his throat, he settled into playing a jazzy version of a familiar song.

Murdock tilted his head to listen, then grinned. "You know this one, don'tcha, Katie?" He peered down at the garland draped across their laps and hummed along for a few seconds. Thinking about the loblolly pines of home, he wondered how Gramma and Grampa always somehow managed to find a nice tree for their living room each Christmas.

Felicity finished stringing a piece of popcorn and nodded in approval. "Good choice."

As Face played and Katie and the model completed the garland, the pilot added the words.

"O Christmas tree, o Christmas tree,  
Your branches green d'light us.  
O Christmas tree, o Christmas tree,  
Your branches green d'light us.  
They're green when summer days're bright;  
They're green when winter snow is white.  
O Christmas tree . . . "

Felicity smiled at the two of them and stood up. Walking over to the con man, she bent to give him a kiss on the cheek, then stood behind him with her hands massaging his shoulders.

The youth center door opened. Hannibal entered, several bags clutched in each hand. Nearing the couch where Murdock sat, he carefully set all the bags on the floor and motioned toward the piano.

"I see Face is getting into the Christmas spirit."

"Well, he took a li'l proddin' . . . " The pilot was already peeking in one of the bags. He pulled out several small cardboard boxes, each one the same size but from different stores.

Glancing up at the Colonel, Murdock gave him a puzzled frown.

"Open one of them." Hannibal grinned as he lit a new cigar and waited.

The pilot handed a box to Katie and took one for himself. Gently prying open the lid and brushing aside the cotton wool lining, Murdock's eyes widened as he removed the contents.

Katie murmured a small surprised "Look, Murdock" as she held up the ornament from her own box.

"I . . . I can't b'lieve ya did this. How . . . how many didya get, Colonel?" Murdock hugged the child as they gazed at identical green glass pickles topped with gold-cord hangers.

"Enough for every child and worker who comes to this center over the Christmas season. Took some time to find them but . . . " Hannibal shrugged. "Now we have to get those extra presents." Scrutinizing the tree, he added, "Do you think there's enough room for all of these?"

Katie called over to B. A. "Mister B. Look!" She held up the glass pickle in her hand and giggled when he shook his head in disbelief.

"We'll find a spot for every one." Murdock carefully placed the ornament back in its box. His eyes slightly misty, he gave the Colonel a warm smile. "Thanks, Hann'bal."

"Don't thank me. It was your idea. I just helped it along." The Colonel grinned down at the pilot and little girl beside him. "Merry Christmas, Captain. Merry Christmas, Katie."


	5. Chapter 5 Broken Crayons and Memories

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

5. Broken Crayons and Memories

AN: 'The Little Boy That Santa Claus Forgot' was written in 1937 by Jimmy Leach, Michael Carr and Tommie Connor. Jimmy Ray and Southern Serenaders is the YouTube version I listened to while writing this.

oooooo

_He's the little boy that Santa Claus forgot,  
And goodness knows he didn't want a lot.  
He sent a note to Santa for some soldiers and a drum . . . _

oooooo

The monsters, both real and imagined, in the boy's life made a low-burning oil lamp and a partly open bedroom door a necessity each night. Even then, the physical and emotional pain present in the farmhouse created a chilled foreign atmosphere in his dimly lit room this night.

Five-year-old H. M. Murdock curled up under the bed covers in a tight ball, clasping his thin arms over his ears, trying to block out the sound of his mother's wrenching cough. It wasn't that he didn't care.

It was that he cared way too much, and he understood what was happening in his young life way beyond what a boy of his years should understand.

Gramma was in the bedroom with Ma. He could hear her speaking to Ma, her soothing voice penetrating the thin walls.

"You've let this go on far too long. We have t' take ya t' see th' doc."

His mother didn't respond. In his mind, he could see her vigorously shake her head even as she coughed blood-flecked mucus into an already stained white dish towel.

The night before, he had seen the same reply from her bedroom door when they both thought he was in bed. It was then he began to believe she might not be there with them on Christmas Day. He knew he couldn't ask Gramma about it. He didn't even know how to ask the questions that swirled in his mind.

_One thing 'bout Gramma. She don' give up easy. _

"Ch . . . Christmas'll be here 'n' soon gone . . . then . . . " A new wave of coughing erupted from his mother's bedroom. Murdock felt tears well up. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut only seemed to make the tears multiply so he opened them again and let his vision blur.

Christmas. Ma was thinking about Christmas. She didn't want to go to the doctor because she was afraid she'd miss Christmas. She wanted to be there for him.

Murdock peered out from under the covers at the little desk Grampa made him for his birthday a month ago.

"Boy 's smart as you should have 'is own desk t' keep all 'is 'portant papers on. Won' be long, H. M., 'n' you'll be impressin' them teachers with your smarts." Grampa rumpled his shaggy brown hair as he said it and Ma had beamed with an enormous amount of love and pride.

Two weeks ago, Ma knelt beside him as he sat at that desk, helping him compose his letter to Santa Claus. Topping the list was a drum and a set of toy soldiers he could stage mock battles with. There wasn't anything else he wanted at that time. He remembered how carefully he printed each letter in each word and how proud Ma was when he had finished.

She wasn't as sick then as she was now. Ma hadn't had time to mail the letter before the cold confined her to bed. The page still sat on top of his desk. Well, no matter. His Christmas wish list had changed.

_If I knew how t' spell good, I'd make a new note 'n' ask Santa t' take this cold 'way from Ma 'n' make 'er happy 'gain. 'N' nothin' else. _

He didn't want to bother Gramma or Grampa. The worry in their expressions told him how serious his mother's cold was.

They had no time to help him add something to his Christmas list. Caring for Ma had become almost a full-day job for Gramma.

Christmas was very near, within a few days. The tree Grampa brought back to the farmhouse was sparsely decorated. Ma had stayed well long enough to help her son pierce popcorn and cranberries with a sewing needle and thread to make a garland. It joined a few candy canes and an heirloom star tree topper on the pine in the living room. Shortly after those decorations were hung, Ma took to her bed.

Pa had stopped by earlier that day. Grampa met him at the door to the farmhouse. Murdock was in the living room at the time and crept close enough to the two men to see the half empty bottle of whisky tucked away in the pocket of his father's coveralls. That was before Gramma called him away to run a cup of tea with lemon up to his Ma.

Carefully carrying the cup up the stairs so he didn't spill any, Murdock overheard the loud words Grampa was using to send his Pa away. He didn't turn around, not even when Pa slurred his name calling for him.

"Get off o' my land 'n' don' come back 'til yer sober 'nough t' talk." With those words, Grampa slammed the door on Harley McKeever.

As he thought back to the roaring anger he heard in his Pa's voice as he realized he was locked out, Murdock shivered.

He wanted so badly to sneak into his Ma's room and assure himself she wasn't as sick as she seemed. Maybe if he went in there, she would smile at him and tell him everything would be better now that they were living at Grampa and Gramma's house.

He didn't remember any other home but this one. His mother had moved here when she realized she was expecting him.

The man who called himself his Pa came around every once in a while, usually strongly smelling of what his Gramma disgustedly called 'the spirits.' On his fourth birthday, his Pa brought him a bottle of funny-tasting grape juice and they shared half of it in the barn before Ma discovered them. He trembled at the memory of his father attacking first his mother and then him when he defended her using a pitchfork much bigger than he was.

To tell the truth, young Murdock was afraid of Harley McKeever and curious about him all at the same time.

As he thought about these things, his Gramma gently opened his bedroom door a little wider. The soft light from her oil lamp illuminated the wispy white strands of hair around her face. She looked like an angel come to visit.

"H. M., you'd better get up 'n' get dressed. Yer Grampa 'n' me're takin' yer Ma t' th' hospital 'n' ya can' stay here all 'lone." Her low voice sounded anxious.

He wordlessly slid from his bed and quickly pulled on clean underwear, blue jeans and a flannel shirt. When he looked up at the door, his Gramma had disappeared. He spoke silently to his baby brother who had died earlier that autumn.

_Time's come t' go t' th' hospital, Billy. Ya gotta be there t' help Ma see th' angels when it's time. _

Where that thought came from, he didn't know, but Billy was an angel. He would be able to sort out what he needed to do when the time came.

A quiet rustling from the next room alerted him to what was happening. As he watched, Grampa helped his mother toward the stairs. The blanket draped over her head and shoulders allowed him to see very little of her face. What he did see was a left cheek and nose as white as that of a stone angel.

oooooo

The next few days he was either helping his Grampa with chores back at the farm or staying with Grampa and Gramma as they watched over Ma in the hospital room.

He brought coloring books, drawing paper and last year's broken crayons to her room and remained in a corner listening to the rasping uneven breaths she took. He drew and colored bells, Santa Claus, candy canes, gingerbread men and Christmas trees, then put all of his pictures together in a book bound with some of Gramma's red knitting yarn.

_Ma'll like t' look at this when she's all better. _

She was awake so seldom now that Murdock refused to leave her room except to go home to sleep. He wanted to be there when Santa Claus came to visit her. He had to make sure Santa knew he changed his list.

He drew a big star on some paper and colored it bright yellow. A friendly nurse helped him tape it to the window beside Ma's bed. Gramma said it was a star of hope. He thought it would help Santa know where to look for his Ma so he could heal her.

On Christmas Eve, his mother woke for a few minutes.

Pink fever spots high on both pale cheeks, Ma tousled her son's hair with a too-thin white hand. She whispered three words to him as he hugged her tightly and nestled his head under her chin.

"Love you, son."

Grampa grasped him by the hand and gently drew him toward the door. With solemn brown eyes he stopped to look back.

"I love you, Ma." He knew, just knew, the sweet smile she gave him was because Santa was already giving him his Christmas present.

oooooo

_It broke his little heart when he found Santa hadn't come.  
In the street, he envies all those lucky boys,  
Then wanders home to last year's broken toys.  
I'm so sorry for that laddie;  
He hasn't got a daddy,  
The little boy that Santa Claus forgot.  
_


	6. Chapter 6 Not So Holy Night

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

6. Not So Holy Night

I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses.-Taylor Caldwell

oooooo

The seventeen-year-old shifted his duffel bag from one shoulder to the other as he closed the back stage exit door and stepped into the parking area of the theater. Slipping the keys to his faded red Ford pickup out of his denim jacket pocket, he thought about the rehearsal he had just left.

Except for one or two songs to polish, the company of church kids were well-practiced and ready to put on the program. His services as assistant stage manager would not be needed until that evening.

The door opened and shut behind him and he smelled the faint fragrance of vanilla in the late afternoon air.

"You aren't leavin' already, H. M., are you?" Cyndy sounded disappointed.

He sighed and turned to her, setting his bag down on the asphalt surface. Wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her close, he kissed the side of her head just above her ear. Her own arms crept up around his neck.

She pulled away when she felt him tense under her touch. Hand to her mouth, her hazel eyes widened. "Oh God, H. M. I forgot. I'm sorry."

Still grimacing from the accidental pressure she had applied to a freshly bruised clavicle, he massaged his shoulder. "Th' price I pay for Hollis seein' you 'n' me t'gether." He grinned mischievously at her then and, leaning forward, kissed her lightly on the lips. "But it sure is worth it."

Cyndy lovingly stroked his cheek and gazed intently into his eyes. "I don't want him beatin' on you because of me."

Her gold halo had slipped to one side. Murdock reached up to readjust it and took the opportunity to brush her lips with his again. "I can handle 'im. Don' you worry, Buttercup. B'sides, you're worth ev'rythin' he dishes out."

He stepped back from her, his keys dangling from his fingertips. "But right now, I gotta go get my paycheck b'fore th' boss locks it 'way in th' safe for th' weekend. After th' program t'night, we'll go to th' Dinner Bell 'n' have a good supper, 'kay?"

She nodded and edged toward the stage door. "I wish I could go with you now but Mrs. Bartleman wants me to rehearse the transition from the angel choir song to 'O Holy Night.'"

Murdock grinned broader. "Jus' don' let Ricky swing ya up in that harness over th' stage without me bein' there."

"I won't. Promise." She blew him a kiss and disappeared through the door, her angel wings fluttering slightly with her motion.

_Jus' like a real angel. _

Murdock's grin faded to a faint smile as he thought about how angelic Cyndy looked soaring above the shepherds in the gold-sequined device he had rigged. Mrs. Bartleman had been pleased. The unsafe ladder had been removed.

That was part of the reason Hollis was so steamed at him. His plan worked, and at the same time, he gained favor with the program director.

_'N' my Buttercup tol' him t' get lost when he burned up my sketch. _

Still thinking about his girlfriend, Murdock started the engine of his truck and turned out into traffic, not noticing the Pontiac Catalina that slipped into the flow of cars behind him.

oooooo

Murdock looked at the paycheck in his hand and grinned. He put in a good amount of work bagging groceries at the store for customers. He always had a friendly word and smile for each one and the boss noticed. His pay this time contained a nice Christmas bonus. He tucked it in his wallet and returned it to his jeans pocket.

_'Nough t' do more 'n a hamburger 'n' fries when I take Cyndy t' supper t'night. _

Whistling 'Deck the Halls,' Murdock strolled toward his pickup and froze when he saw the Catalina parked beside it.

The driver leaned out of the window and growled an instruction. "Get in th' car 'n' don' say a word."

The teen glanced around the almost deserted parking lot. The store had closed for the evening. The only people who might witness any attack on him would be a stock boy or the store manager if they stepped outside. But most of the employees still in the store were hard at work restocking shelves.

He set his mouth in a hard line and swallowed once before opening the door and getting in.

"Pa." He nodded to the man relaxing in the driver's seat beside him. "How ya been?"

"Now don' tell me ya weren' 'xpectin' me t' show up." The older man wiped a hand across his mouth and smiled. "Boy's s'posed t' take care o' his needy parents. 'N' this Christmas I'm _very_ needy." Harley McKeever chuckled at the disgusted look his son gave him. "Ya jus' got yer check, didn'tcha?"

Murdock considered getting out of the car and going back into the store. He didn't want his father coming in and causing a scene that would likely lose him his job. If he got out of the car and drove away in his truck, he knew his Pa would follow. When his father was this way, he might run the truck off the road. He'd done it once or twice in the past. Maybe a lie would work?

"Got here too late. Boss already locked th' check 'way." He stared straight ahead, not wanting to glance at the drunken man beside him.

"I know ya ain' tellin' th' truth. Ya never were too good at lyin'." McKeever turned the key in the ignition and put the car in gear.

Murdock gritted his teeth and stared out the window. Maybe this time he would be able to keep the check away from his father.

oooooo

From her appointed place above the stage, Cyndy took a breath and began to sing.

"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;  
It is the night of the dear Savior's birth . . . "

H. M. had not shown up to oversee the backstage goings-on and Cyndy's stomach knotted with worry. Up until Ricky, the star linebacker for their high school football team, hoisted her into the air for 'Hark! The Herald Angels Sing' she watched for him. When he didn't arrive, she sensed something very wrong.

"Long lay the world in sin and error pining,  
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth . . . "

She couldn't leave before her part in the program was over. Trying to keep her voice from wavering, she continued with her solo.

"A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,  
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn . . . "

_Where are you, H. M.? _

"Fall on your knees,  
Oh, hear the angel voices!  
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!  
O night, O holy night, O night divine!"

oooooo

Murdock squinted through eyes swollen half-shut. His father's Catalina was no longer parked in front of the hay shed. He might be able to get on his feet long enough to make his way along the horse trail through the woods. The farmhouse lay at the end of that trail but Gramma and Grampa wouldn't be there. They would be enjoying the church Christmas program. And they wouldn't know he wasn't there until it was over because he wasn't a member of the onstage cast.

He would have to care for his own injuries until they got home. Taking a huge breath that hurt as he took it, Murdock draped an arm over a hay bale and attempted to stand.

Black spots swam before his eyes as he fell back to the ground on his knees. His entire body felt like a pulsing mass of jelly and he sank on his side in the dirt and straw.

oooooo

"Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,  
With glowing hearts by his cradle we stand.  
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,  
Here came the wise men from the Orient land . . . "

Cyndy's gaze flickered down to the person shining the soft white beam on her as she sang. Hollis was here working the lights. He had nothing to do with H. M.'s failure to show up. His friends were on stage as the wise men from the Orient. He hadn't sent _them_ to hurt H. M. either.

oooooo

With the sun going down, the air grew cooler. Half-conscious, Murdock shivered and tried to draw his denim jacket closer around him. Through the open door of the shed, he saw the first of the stars appear in the darkening sky overhead. He had to make another attempt to stand up and get to the farmhouse.

But for now, he needed to gather his strength to do it.

_I'm s'posed t' be somewhere . . . _

His head hurt too much to remember where.

oooooo

Just in case he was somewhere in the audience, she scanned the auditorium. The almost one hundred faces of relatives, friends and acquaintances beamed up at her as she tried not to panic.

He wasn't there either.

She spotted his grandparents. His Gramma smiled at her, not suspecting there was anything wrong. She couldn't worry them. But she would need help after the program to find H. M., wherever he was.

"The King of Kings lay in lowly manger,  
In all our trials born to be our friend.  
He knows our need,  
To our weakness no stranger . . . "

oooooo

The tuna salad sandwich and potato chips he ate for lunch churned in his stomach. Unable to raise his head more than a few inches from the ground, he curled tighter around his belly, hoping the urge to vomit would go away. It didn't. The retching he did weakened him even more than before.

When he finished, he let his head rest again in the straw and dirt, trying to avoid the watery mucus soaking into the ground.

oooooo

"Behold your King! Before the lowly bend!  
Behold your King! Your King! Before Him bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another;  
His law is love and His gospel is peace . . . "

She had to keep singing. Tears formed in her eyes as she thought about where he told her he was going when he left her. Suddenly she figured out what must have happened. The knowledge soured her stomach.

_Your Pa must have followed you, trying to get you to sign over the check. Oh, H. M.! _

As soon as Ricky lowered her from her spot high above the stage, she would go out looking for him. She was afraid of what she would find.

oooooo

Before escaping the after-program festivities, Cyndy alerted Murdock's grandparents to his disappearance.

"I don't know for sure where he is but I'll go to all of the places we usually hang out. Maybe he lost track of the time." Even as she told his Gramma that, the older woman clutched her husband's arm and paled.

"Yer a good girl, Cyndy. If you can' find H. M. anywhere, come back to th' house 'n' we'll get t'gether a search party." His Grampa held his trembling wife as he said it, his glance flickering between the teenager and the frightened woman in his arms. He didn't want her to say anything more until they knew for certain.

"No need for all of us to worry ourselves. When I find him, I'll give him a good scolding, okay? Then I'll make sure he checks in at home." Cyndy patted the older woman's arm. Murdock's Gramma tried to smile but the tears in her eyes showed her fear. As they picked their way through the happy group of audience and cast members to their separate vehicles, the teen hoped she could fulfill her promise.

She drove to the grocery store and, just as she suspected, found his red pickup parked where he left it.

Thinking of all the places his father could have taken him, she decided to look in the location she found him most often after one of his Pa's beatings. If she was wrong . . . no, she didn't want to think that.

_Maybe this time McKeever's actually done it, killed the man I love. _

Tears nearly blinded her as she navigated the rutted road leading back to the hay shed.

"Please, God. Let him be there. Let him be alive." She repeated her whispered prayer over and over.

Her car's headlights stabbed the darkness until the hay shed loomed ahead of her. And in the doorway . . .

"H. M.!" She threw the car into park and left the engine running. Slamming open her car door, she stumbled to the structure and fell to her knees beside him. The headlights highlighted the bruising around his face and eyes and his bloody nose and split lip.

Hearing her voice, sensing her presence, Murdock tried to lift his head. "Cyndy?"

"Thank God I found you! Don't . . . don't try to move. I'm here now. I'm here." She knew her words were coming out in a rush. Horrified, she cradled his head in her lap. At the same time, she felt hatred for the man who did this well up deep inside her.

A fresh round of tears streaked her face. One splotched on his cheek and he lifted a hand to touch it.

"Aw, don' cry. Angels ain' s'posed t' cry. I'm jus' glad ya knew where . . . "

His voice broke and he reached to run his fingers through her hair. He grimaced as she checked his most obvious injuries.

She could tell he had put up a fight to keep his father from getting the check from him. The stifled groans and his hardened abdomen told her he would need immediate surgery.

She stared toward her car. Touching the side of his face with her hand to get his attention, she spoke with a quavering voice. "I gotta get you to th' doctor."

"No . . . jus' get me back home. Don' wanna spend my Christmas in th' hospital."

"But this time he may have hurt you really bad." She knew she was on the losing side of the argument when he stubbornly shook his head.

"Pa ain' ever gonna kill me. It's my paycheck, keeps 'im in liquor." His bitter laugh became a painful cough. "Jus' help me up."

His weight sagged against her as she walked him to her car with her arm around his waist and his arm over her shoulders. Settling him into the front seat, she hurried around to the driver's side and focused on getting the car turned around and headed toward the road.

A couple of seconds passed before either of them spoke. "Missed yer solo, Buttercup." He licked his lower lip and winced as his tongue hit a cut. "Sorry . . . 'bout supper. Sorry 'bout Pa . . . 'n' all this fuss."

She sighed. "Ain' your fault, H. M. 'N' I love you. Nothin's gonna change that."

"My angel," he breathed as he drifted back into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7 In My Dreams

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

7. In My Dreams

I'll be home for Christmas  
You can count on me  
Please have snow and mistletoe  
And presents under the tree  
Christmas Eve will find me  
Where the love light beams  
I'll be home for Christmas  
If only in my dreams. James "Kim" Gannon, lyrics, and Walter Kent, composer

oooooo

Cyndy pressed a foam cup of hot coffee into Gramma Murdock's hands. "Thought you might like this while we're waitin'. Grampa Murdock'll be back soon from talkin' to the police."

The older woman touched the seventeen-year-old on her cheek and nodded her thanks. "Come sit with me, Cyndy."

She motioned toward the red vinyl-upholstered chairs in the emergency waiting room.

As soon as they were seated, Cyndy glanced toward the doors through which they had taken H. M. almost an hour ago. It was something she had done every few minutes since she got him to the hospital. His grandparents arrived a few minutes later but not before the medical team whisked the still unconscious teen away to surgery. Neither of them had seen what condition McKeever had left his son.

_Better if they didn't until the staff can clean him up a little. It's gonna be enough of a shock to them. _

"I'm afraid it's goin' to be a while b'fore Doc Fremont has some news for us." Gramma Murdock murmured, the cup in her hand neglected for the time being. "Isn' it, dear."

The teen stole a look at the older woman. The grandmotherly wrinkles seemed more deeply set, the eyes wearier than she had ever seen. She knew somehow that this was the worst McKeever had ever injured her grandson.

_The two of them've tried to raise H. M. all his life like he was their own. Why does McKeever have to keep contact when he hates his own son so much? Why not let him be happy? _

"H. M. ain' gonna like what I did when he wakes up." The teen scrubbed her face with both hands before folding them together back in her lap. "He said, 'Jus' take me home.' He's gonna be _so_ mad at me. But I couldn't do anythin' different. He was hurt so bad this time."

She shivered at the memory, drawing her sweater together with one hand. Hunching slightly, she tried to hide her face, knowing her tears were close to the surface and ready to spill over. She had to be strong.

"He's a stubborn one sometimes. No, don' blame yourself. You did the right thing." Gramma Murdock patted her on the knee. "He jus' doesn' like hospitals, dear. 'N' he especially doesn' like hospitals durin' Christmas." The older woman's eyes took on a distant look as if she were seeing another time.

Cyndy sipped at her own cup of coffee. She knew the reason her boyfriend felt that way.

She grimaced. "It don' look like he's gonna be home for Christmas now." She cast an unhappy look at Gramma Murdock. "Why does his Pa hafta ruin this time of year for him? Why?"

"Maybe this time we'll be able to convince H. M. to file charges against his father." the older woman mused. "Or ask for a court order to make McKeever stay away from him 'n' us."

The teen shot a surprised glance at Gramma Murdock. She knew H. M.'s father threatened his own son every time he got drunk enough to go looking for him but she didn't know he had troubled the elderly couple as well with his violent words.

The elderly woman seemed to know what Cyndy was thinking. Taking the teen by the hand, Gramma Murdock squeezed it and gave her a faint smile. "Now don' you worry 'bout Grampa 'n' me. Harley McKeever knows if he lays a finger on either of us, H. M.'ll file charges on him faster 'n a jack rabbit with his tail afire. Only thing keeps him from doin' it now is he thinks he's protectin' us by bein' his Pa's punchin' bag." She sighed and sipped at her lukewarm coffee. "Can' tell 'im otherwise. He won' listen."

Grampa Murdock entered the emergency room doors and peered around the reception area. When he spotted them, he came over and sank into a seat beside his wife. Pulling out a blue bandana from his overalls pocket, he blew his nose sharply before putting it away again. For several seconds he stared at the floor, his hands gripping his knees, his jaw muscles twitching in anger.

"Not much they can do if H. M. doesn' wake up 'n' tell 'em who did it to him. That's what they're doin' now . . . waitin' t' see if he wakes up 'nough t' tell 'em." Grampa Murdock slowly shook his head as if in disbelief. "Chief Wayne knows what kind o' cloth McKeever's cut from but his hands're tied. I can accuse 'im 'til my face turns blue from th' effort 'n' if they don' hear it from H. M., they can' do anythin'." He snorted with disgust and anger.

The two women glanced at each other. They knew it was true. McKeever had been very careful to hide what he did and keep the teen from telling anybody. Even then, Murdock allowed only Cyndy to know how bad the beatings were getting in the past year.

"No word yet?" The elderly man cast worried eyes on his wife and Cyndy.

The older woman shook her head and offered him her coffee cup. "Here. I don' want any more."

He sipped at it and gently took one of her hands in his. "The boy's strong, Emma. He'll come through this. Might not be home fer Christmas but he'll pull through." His words were soft and hesitant.

She closed her eyes and swallowed, nodding. Cyndy reached over and touched the hand the older woman had clenched in her lap. She knew Emma was praying silently and she added her own quiet two-word prayer.

_Please, God. _

oooooo

Murdock woke to dim light and quiet breathing somewhere close by. His eyes were swollen to thin slits and his head pounded with a ferocious pain but he was alive.

A faint scent of vanilla told him one of the people waiting for him to wake was Cyndy.

The light he could see did not flicker like an oil lamp. That meant one thing.

_I'm in th' hospital. _

"Dammit!" he muttered under his breath. His mouth was dry and tasted coppery. Almost as soon as the word left his lips, a cool hand lightly stroked his face.

"Shhh, H. M. Don' try to talk." A whispered instruction preceded a gentle kiss on lips that felt swollen to twice their normal size.

"He's awake, Emma."

_That's Grampa. 'N' Gramma's here, too? _

He turned his head from side to side to see his grandparents and girlfriend surround his bed. A small moan escaped him.

Cyndy clutched a white-knuckled fist to her mouth as he did. He could just barely see tears glistening at the corners of her eyes through his own blackened eyes.

It had been Cyndy's hand brushing his cheek with her tender touch. It was Cyndy's voice he heard first and her kiss that hushed the expletive his Gramma would not have approved of.

He frowned and groaned again as the bruises and cuts on his face ached anew. He could only imagine what he would feel if he tried to move the rest of his body.

"Did . . . " He licked his lips to moisten them, feeling the sting of his tongue against the cuts. "Did I miss Christmas?"

He thought back to the night his Ma died. Sometime Christmas Eve while he waited for Santa to show up back at Gramma and Grampa's house. Back then, he thought Santa granted Christmas wishes like healing pneumonia-sick people like his Ma. There were no toys that Christmas, no wishes granted. He learned the truth about Santa and wondered about his Gramma's God.

"No, H. M., no, you didn't miss Christmas." Cyndy cast her gaze down at the floor. He had a good idea why she wouldn't meet his eyes after his question.

_Dammit, Buttercup! I said no hospital! _

He curled one bruised hand where it lay beside him and fought back his anger and panic.

_Ma died in this very hospital Christmas Eve. I can't be here Christmas Eve. I can't! _

As if sensing what he was thinking, his Gramma rearranged the sheet and coverlet over him and patted his hand. "There's 'nough time t' talk 'bout Christmas after you get some rest." She pursed her lips in that no-nonsense way that told him she meant what she said.

"You heard yer Gramma, son. There's no arguin' with 'er when 'er mind's made up." Grampa's voice sounded worried.

"You sleep now, H. M. We'll all be here when you wake up 'n' we can talk then." Cyndy bent and kissed his cheek, her face misty white like an angel's above him.

_An angel with sparklin' tears in 'er eyes. _

Whatever the doctor prescribed for his pain was making everything fuzzy and dreamlike.

"I ain' stayin' here. I'm gonna be home for Christmas." His voice was giving out and he felt sleepy but he had to make them all understand.

_I ain' spendin' Christmas Eve in th' hospital. Christmas Day neither! I ain' gonna! _

For some silly reason, the voice of Bing Crosby echoed in his brain, crooning his song about snow, mistletoe and love light's beams. It lulled him to an unconscious state filled with dreams of cranberry and popcorn garlands, singing angels and brightly wrapped gifts. Try as he might, he couldn't resist slipping into that pain-free dreamland.


	8. Chapter 8 In the Quiet Night

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

8. In the Quiet Night

Love came down at Christmas;  
Love all lovely, love divine;  
Love was born at Christmas;  
Stars and angels gave the sign.-Christina Rossetti

oooooo

Murdock slept fitfully. He knew that he partially woke several times. Each time, after checking to see that he hadn't been abandoned, he drifted back to sleep within minutes. Grampa left a few times to go home to do chores. Feeding the livestock couldn't wait. Neither could milking the two cows they owned.

Someone was there every time he was semi-conscious. The constant presence of his loved ones would have relaxed his sleep if not for the nightmares about Pa beating him.

oooooo

_After parking the Catalina, Pa turned toward him. A sour smell of too much liquor wafted from him as he grinned and held out his hand._

"_Ya know what I want, boy. Ain' right t' give yer Grampa 'n' Grampa all o' that money without sharin' it with yer Pa."_

"_Not this time, Pa. Not this time. This's meant for somethin' else." Murdock sat with his back to the door, his right hand behind him searching for the handle. He found it, opened the door and half-fell out of the car. In less than a second, he got to his feet and started running._

_The horse trail leading to the safety of the farmhouse would be his best bet. He was halfway to the fringe of forest marking the edge of the field when he fell to the ground, tackled from behind._

_He didn't expect his father to be so quick. Or to be that sober._

"_Must be desperate," he thought to himself. "Maybe he jus' got lucky. Maybe this time . . . " _

_He was still thinking that when Pa twisted him onto his back and landed the first of several bruising punches to his face. This one caught him directly in the eye and he yelped in pain. _

oooooo

As soon as Cyndy heard the half-muffled cry from the bed, she woke from her light sleep and stood over the bed to caress his cheek.

"Shhh, H. M. Shhh. You're safe. Your Pa's gone now."

He whimpered, his muscles tensing with the memory of his father's attack.

_Must be an awful dream he's havin'. Prob'ly 'bout his Pa. Please, H. M.! Wake up!_

She continued to murmur reassurances to him until his weak struggles stopped and he rasped her name. "Cyndy?"

"I'm here. I'm not leaving. Go back to sleep." Taking care not to apply pressure to any bruises, she gently kissed him on the lips and then held his hand as his breathing returned to normal.

He drifted into unconsciousness again and she softly sang to him, hoping what she sang would push back the nightmares and give him peace.

"Silent night, holy night,  
All is calm, all is bright.  
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child,  
Holy Infant so tender and mild,  
Sleep in heavenly peace,  
Sleep in heavenly peace."

Peace. She let her head rest against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. As long as McKeever was around to bother them, would any of them have peace?

oooooo

_His father had way too much practice with barroom brawls and was way too drunk to be even mildly dazed by any of the younger man's wild blows to his body. Murdock wondered how McKeever could see straight to aim his punches._

"_Yer gettin' tougher, gettin' stronger, but ya know I'm gonna get what I want, boy," his Pa panted as his fist made contact again and again._

_Spots danced in what vision he had left to him. Both eyes were swelling and his mouth tasted coppery. He was barely aware of his father dragging him to the shed to search his wallet and his pockets._

_At least his Pa didn't leave him out in the open. But that might have been to hide what he had done more than any concern for his own son. _

_The hay shed wasn't big enough for both of them to fit in it. Not when some of the barn's seasoned hay bales were stored there for use during the winter. Maybe Pa would stop hitting him. _

_His father left him lying just inside the doorway. He loomed over him like a huge shadowy monster. His hands found everything Murdock had in his pockets and discarded most of it on the ground beside him._

_There was the sound of paper being torn and a low whistle. "Nice . . . very nice . . . This should do jus' fine. Ya did good, boy." _

_Was that a small bit of pride he heard in his father's voice? He had to be mistaken. It was best not to say a word. Any sound now and his father might renew his attack._

"_Gotta go now, son. See ya in two weeks." With that, the shadow moved. Soon an engine started and the headlights of the Catalina pulled away. It was almost a relief to be left alone in the darkness and quiet of the night._

oooooo

Coming out of the dream, Murdock felt his body trembling. He willed himself not to sleep. The dreams hurt as much as his father's fists and hatred.

The room was dark except for a very dim light by his bed. He caught a glimpse of Cyndy resting her head against the back of the bedside chair. Her eyes were closed as she quietly sang 'Silent Night.'

"Silent night, holy night  
Son of God, love's pure light  
Radiant beams from Thy holy face  
With the dawn of redeeming grace  
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth  
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth."

He wasn't sure if it was to calm him or just because the atmosphere called for something like that. Her voice and that song filled his confused mind with peace. As beautiful as she was at that moment, he wanted to reach out and stroke her face, but he fell asleep again before he could summon the strength to do it.


	9. Chapter 9 Christmas Eve Promise

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

9. Christmas Eve Promise

Remember this December,  
That love weighs more than gold!-Josephine Dodge Daskam Bacon

oooooo

Someone had brought his dark brown RCA Victor table radio from home and set it up next to his hospital bed. KOGT AM out of Orange, Texas, was playing Christmas music. Theyturned the volume low so that he wouldn't wake up unnecessarily.

He woke up anyway.

The first thing he recognized was the song.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas.  
Let your heart be light.  
From now on,  
Our troubles will be out of sight._

_If only that could be true, _he thought to himself.

Over the soft sound of Frank Sinatra's singing, he heard the steady click of his Gramma's knitting needles. The two women in his life were quietly talking about Christmas and what they could do in the confines of the hospital room to make the day better.

"I know he wants t' be home for Christmas but Doc Fremont said he can' leave th' hospital 'til they're sure they stopped all th' internal bleedin'. After th' last surgery . . . "

_Whoa! Wait a minute! I was bleedin' inside? No wonder I been so in 'n' outta it. Surgery? _

He willed the hand resting at his side to move past the sheet and blanket tucked so carefully over his chest. He had to know how bad it was. But there seemed to be a disconnect between his brain and the nerves and muscles in that arm.

"H. M."

Before his shaking hand managed to push the bed covers aside someone gripped it and kept him from moving it further.

"Don't."

His mouth was even drier than it had been the last time he was completely aware of his surroundings. Trying to respond to the person holding his hand, he croaked, "Why?"

"Because you don' know what you're doin' 'n' you might tear out stitches." Cyndy's voice took on a determined tone and she tightened her grip, lacing her fingers in his.

_Ain' th' question I wanted answered. _

The knitting needles stopped clicking. He sensed his Gramma's presence on his other side, her gentle hand smoothing back the hair from his forehead.

"You listen to Cyndy, H. M. You aren' in no shape to be movin' around so."

If he tried really hard, he could almost see his Gramma's face as she spoke. The swelling around his eyes reduced his vision to almost nothing, about as good as being totally blind.

_Some Christmas this's gonna be! Pa did it good this time. _

The words of the song seemed like a mockery.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas.  
Make the Yule-tide gay,  
From now on,  
Our troubles will be miles away._

He felt the end of a straw touching his lips. "Here, H. M. Sip it slowly."

Drawing the ice-cold fluid up, he let it pool in his mouth for seconds before swallowing.

He tried his voice again. "It ain' eggnog." He didn't mean to complain but maybe the rich sweet thick stuff his Gramma was famous for would cut some of the metallic bitter taste in his mouth.

Cyndy sighed softly. "No, it ain'. Maybe you can have some tonight if you keep this down. But no cookies or fruitcake. 'N' nothin' alcoholic."

He focused on her voice and turned his head toward its source. "T'night?"

Both women hesitated to answer what he seemed to be asking. He sensed there was meaning to their silence. The songs on the radio, the reluctance to tell him . . .

_I know I've been sleepin' off 'n' on but . . . _

"Christmas? Did I miss it?" But, no, he couldn't have if they were trying to figure out how to bring Christmas to his hospital room.

"No, H. M. You didn't miss it." Through the narrow slit vision he had left to him, he saw the glance his Gramma and Cyndy passed between them.

"Wh . . . " Talking drained his energy but he had to know. "What's t'day?"

There was that hesitancy again between the two women he loved so dearly. A twinge of anger fueled his voice.

"I'm . . . I'm seventeen . . . no need t' treat me like I'm some li'l kid." He wanted to glare at them to add emphasis to his words but the effort to insist on an answer cost him. He had no more strength.

"Please understand, son. Grampa 'n' I can't take you home until Doc Fremont gives the go 'head." His Gramma was very near to tears. He cursed himself silently for bringing her to that point.

His stomach churned and without warning, the water he drank minutes before came back up. Ignoring the pain all over his body, he forced himself over on his left side while the vomit spewed across the sheets and dripped on the floor.

Deep inside, he groaned at his own weakness.

"I'll get a nurse." He was barely aware of Cyndy crossing to the door. His Gramma ran her calming hand over his upper back as his spasms continued. He stayed on his side, curled around his belly, after they ended.

The nurse made Gramma and Cyndy wait outside the curtained area around his bed. His mind grew fuzzy again as she stripped and changed the wet bedding and cleaned him up with a cool damp cloth and a new hospital gown. He wasn't aware enough to look while he could at the stitches that neatly closed the surgical site on his abdomen.

He muttered something to Cyndy and his Gramma as they seated themselves by his bedside once again. He was too dizzy to remember what he said. Seeing Cyndy's stunned reaction, he knew it must have been something mean-spirited.

The entire process drained him and pushed him back into sleep.

oooooo

The room was very dark when he woke again. He glanced around and found no one there. An all-night station out of Beaumont was playing a Christmas song but he hardly heard it over his own pounding frantic heartbeat.

_Oh God, what've I done? What'd I say t' them? _

Panic rose in his chest as he peered into the darker shadows in the room. A half-sob escaped his lips.

"Don' leave me 'lone!" The half-whispered plea almost seemed to echo in his own ears. Thoughts of his mother dying alone in the hospital on Christmas Eve swirled in his head. He knew if he was loud enough, one of the nurses from the station down the hall would come to check on him.

_But she ain' fam'ly. She ain' my Buttercup. She wouldn' understand. Not like them. _

Tears squeezed out from the swollen flesh of his eyes and trickled down to his ears.

The door opened wider, letting the sterile light of the corridor slant in across the floor, almost but not quite touching his bed.

He raised his head from the pillow a few inches to watch.

_Is it th' nurse? Or did Pa fin' a way t' get in here? _

A quiet dread paralyzed him. He sank back when Cyndy stepped in the doorway. She didn't come immediately to his bedside but stood with the light behind her keeping her face in shadow.

"Is it alright if I stay now that you're 'wake, H. M.?" Her voice was a low apologetic murmur.

He couldn't answer right away. His mind was confused about why that question was even necessary.

_What'd I say t' her earlier? _

"Whatever I said b'fore, ya gotta know I didn' mean it, Buttercup."

For a few seconds she stood still. Then she nodded and slowly came to sit beside his bed. She sighed as she took the hand he offered her through the bed railing. "I know. I'm glad I was th' only one that heard it. Your Gramma would've been heartbroken."

"Where . . . ?"

"I insisted they go home 'n' get some rest. T'morrow bright 'n' early they'll be back." She gazed at him and nervously bit her lower lip.

"What'd I say that's got you so quiet, darlin'?" He tried to see her face but she turned her head away.

Gently stroking the top of her hand with his forefinger, he waited.

Sinatra was singing his song again. Murdock listened, frowning at the words.

_Here we are as in olden days,  
Happy golden days of yore.  
Faithful friends who are dear to us  
Gather near to us once more. _

When she faced him, tears streaked her cheeks. "You said this might be th' las' Christmas we have you 'round 'n' we wouldn' even tell you what day it was. 'N' it almost came true."

As he reflected on those words, he realized why Gramma would have a difficult time hearing them.

_Hell, I wish I hadn' said 'em t' Cyndy either. _

He thought about where the words came from. For some time, he knew the best way to protect his grandparents and the girl he loved from Harley McKeever was if he slipped quietly away from Sour Lake, Texas. He hoped to graduate first, then head west. To make sure his father didn't try to follow him, he would have to lay low for a while. His plans were sketchy right now but they included sending for Cyndy when he could.

Thinking about the time of year and the words themselves, he suddenly realized why Cyndy was crying.

"Oh, no. No, darlin'. I didn' mean it _that_ way. I ain' gonna die 'n' I ain' gonna let Pa kill me. 'N' I don' fancy doin' it to myself. Not when I got you."

She swallowed and brought his hand to her cheek.

Taking a steadying breath, she murmured, "Good. Because I really want to spend all th' rest o' my Christmases with you 'n' only you."

It was Murdock's turn to swallow and get his bearings for a few moments. "Give me a hug, Buttercup?"

She drew her chair as close as she could to his right side. Putting down the bed railing, she gingerly lay her head on his chest, her hand resting lightly on his left shoulder.

"I'm not hurtin' you, am I?" she asked, glancing up with a worried frown.

_Huh. Even if ya were, Buttercup, I wouldn' ask ya t' stop. This is jus' what I need right now. _

"I'm okay." As he breathed in the familiar vanilla scent, he wondered if he would be able to leave when the time came.

_Lovin' her so much don' make it easy. _

Sinatra finished his song as he held her to himself, gently stroking her hair.

_Through the years  
We all will be together,  
If the Fates allow  
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.  
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now. _

It was then he remembered the reason he wanted to take her out after the Christmas program.

"Darlin'?"

"Mmm?" She sounded tired. He guessed she had kept vigil by his bedside almost as much as his Gramma and Grampa had.

"Ya know where they put my jacket? Gotta find somethin' in one o' th' pockets." She lifted her head and he sensed she gave him a curious glance as she got up to go to the closet.

The jacket still had bits of straw clinging to it in places. The odor of vomit on its sleeve made his stomach roil as he remembered being alone in the hay shed, waiting for Cyndy, wondering if she would get there in time. Patting down the pockets, he groaned when he found every one of them was empty.

"Did th' hospital put any o' my stuff anywhere else?" He was afraid of the answer.

"No. Your Grampa made sure he got all of the things the hospital took from your pockets."

_O' course they wouldn' leave anythin' for someone t' steal. Maybe Pa didn' get it after all . . . _

"Do . . . do ya know if one o' th' things was a li'l box all wrapped up in red 'n' gold paper?"

He had saved a little from each paycheck through the year to buy it. On Christmas Eve he planned to give it to her so they could announce their engagement on Christmas Day to his grandparents. He held his breath waiting for her answer.

For a second she said nothing as she thought back to the collection of things that Grampa Murdock took home with him and then she gasped. An elated smile came to her face but a moment later she groaned softly.

"No. There wasn't anythin' like that."

"Pa." His hands hurt but he balled them into fists anyway. "He must've found th' ring in my pocket. By now he's prob'ly pawned it t' get some money for 'is nex' drink."

"You were gonna ask me . . . " Cyndy's voice was hesitant and soft.

"What's it matter now? I ain' got the ring anymore." He swallowed and tried to avoid her gaze.

"The ring's only th' thing that shows ev'ryone you _made_ th' promise. You can make th' promise _without_ th' ring, too. That's what my Mom 'n' Pop did 'n' see how long they been married."

As she spoke, she cupped his cheek in her hand and turned his sorrowful face toward her. "R'member what I said? I wanna spend ev'ry Christmas for th' rest o' my life with you."


	10. Chapter 10 Care Package

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

10. Care Package

DaNang, 25 December 1969

He absently stared through the rain-streaked glass at the airfield and sighed. On either side of him the blast walls of the revetment rose to give the illusion of being in a tunnel. The chopper was safe from enemy fire.

_'N' I'm safe from anyone lookin' t' wish me a Merry Christmas. _

Sitting in the cockpit of the Huey where he had taken refuge from the semi-festive merriment on the base, he scrubbed his face with his hands. If need be, he was prepared to sleep out there. He would not even need a blanket to cover him. And he would have Billy there to keep him company when he got out of the foul mood he was in.

_If I do. _

December was a milder month with temperatures that were only fifteen to twenty degrees warmer than back home.

The uncomfortably high temperatures and humidity of August when he was still at the Cam Ranh Bay Convalescent Center were just an unpleasant memory. He had gained back all but fifteen pounds of his pre-POW weight and the cast encasing his right arm from hand to elbow was gone. His broken ribs given to him by the hateful Marine O'Keene had mostly healed. The scars from repeated whippings delivered by ruthless NVA soldiers were pink but not gone. He figured he'd never be rid of them.

_'N' th' mem'ries. Am I ever gonna get rid o' th' mem'ries? _

He peeked at the box in the seat his peter pilot usually occupied and reached over, only to pull his hands back again. He closed his eyes and tried to think of other things but his mind kept coming back to the package.

B. A. found him earlier that morning lying on his bunk. He hadn't gone to breakfast, hadn't moved at all except to go to the latrine, then return to his bunk. The black Sergeant had a large white-paper-wrapped box in his arms and a rare huge smile on his face. It disappeared as soon as he saw what mood the pilot was in.

"Better get yer scrawny ass over ta Company HQ. They got a table out front with our Christmas mail. Think one of the packages is for you." B. A. sat on his bunk and tore the paper from his box, then glanced over at the pilot who had covered his eyes with his left arm. "Well? Get goin'. Don't think for a minute I'm gonna let ya have any o' the good stuff my Momma put in here when you got yer own care package waitin' for ya."

Murdock snorted but didn't move. "Ain' 'xpectin' nothin' outta yer box, Big Guy. You jus' enjoy 'n' never mind li'l ol' me."

"Ain'tcha gonna go get your package?"

The Captain grimaced when he remembered his expletive-laced answer. B. A. was a difficult man to shock. His bewildered scowl was the last Murdock saw of him before he stalked out to find some privacy.

Moments later he reluctantly stood behind the line of men assembled to receive their gifts from home. Curiosity brought him there.

Someone put a two-foot tall artificial Christmas tree behind the boxes. Where they got it, he wasn't sure. Couldn't have been Face. He would at least have gotten something a little bigger and more realistic. It had a few ball-shaped colored ornaments on it but no tree topper. No star or angel like he remembered Christmas trees having at home.

_Maybe stars 'n' angels don' b'long here. _

What must have been the world's ugliest Santa Claus statue stood atop the pile. It looked more like a troll dressed in red than jolly Saint Nick. With an unhappy frown, Murdock glared at the gleeful frozen expression on the bearded face.

_Ho, ho, ho, yerself. _

"Captain H. M. Murdock? Here ya go." The Pfc. handing out the boxes pushed a shoebox-sized package into his hands. "Merry Christmas, sir." The Private eyed him with a small degree of awe for a moment before returning to what he was doing. It was the reaction Murdock had seen from so many new or nearly new arrivals at the base since his return to DaNang.

He had been a POW. He had survived. He had helped his fellow prisoners to escape . . .

_. . . 'n' th' story's gone 'round how I slit Ferret's throat t' do it. They think I'm some kind o' hero. _

Many of the men were opening their packages on the spot, sharing the cheer with the others who were waiting.

_Not me. _

He made a hasty retreat to the chopper and tossed the box in the copilot's seat before settling into his own seat.

With his Gramma in the nursing home and his Grampa working to keep the farm running, he knew the package wasn't from them. Cyndy had most likely mailed it.

He glanced over at the scuffed white paper to see the postal marks and name.

_Yup. It's from my Buttercup. _

It wasn't that he was angry at her. He loved her. But love wouldn't heal his memories either.

If only his memories were as sweet as those of the last Christmas Eve he spent with her before leaving Texas . . . how long ago was that now? It seemed a lifetime.

Christmas Eve . . . when he asked her to marry him even though his Pa had beaten him severely and stolen the ring he was going to give her.

Christmas Eve . . . when her eyes filled with tears of pure happiness and she said 'yes.'

Christmas Eve . . . when she stayed at his hospital bedside all night, her head resting on his chest, their hands intertwined, while they talked about their future.

Had he really promised Cyndy he would come back to marry her? That Christmas Eve conversation in the hospital late at night came back to haunt him this Christmas Day.

So much had happened since that evening to now. He was a different man. A whole lot of history had changed him. It was history not to his liking, and not of his choice, but it was _his_ history. He couldn't return to Sour Lake, Texas, and pretend none of it had ever happened.

When he signed up to be a pilot in this war, he figured he would never have to take a life. That was for the guys like Hannibal, Face and B. A. who were dropped off to do that very thing to the enemy. He was certain he could not marry Cyndy, now that blood was on his hands.

_War changes ya forever. _

His stomach grumbled from skipping breakfast that morning. Maybe Cyndy mailed him some homemade treats. He scrutinized the box, afraid of opening it.

If it was filled with memories of her, it would rip him to pieces.

He took it in his hands and gently shook it. Something rattled around inside.

_Maybe Christmas cookies 'n' hard candy? _

He hesitated again, then began to slowly unwrap the box.

One of the first things he found in the top of the box was a plastic bag with pecan snowball cookies in it. Popping one in his mouth, he searched through the rest of the contents. He set the paper lunch bag of bubble gum to one side. The three comic books brought a smile to his face. Shaking his head, he realized how well Cyndy knew him.

A pair of fine-textured dark blue hand-knit socks made him frown and search for a note. It was then he found the photos. The picture of a large church with a bell tower was on top. He thought he recognized the building but he couldn't be sure.

It wasn't Pine Ridge Baptist Church where his Gramma attended. He knew that church too well from when he was a little boy playing under the pews with toy soldiers and model airplanes. As a teen he attended the church mainly to see Cyndy as much as he could. He wondered if Gramma got an opportunity to go to church at midnight on Christmas Eve as was her tradition.

_Bein' in th' nursin' home, I bet she didn', 'less Grampa 'r Cyndy made sure she got there. _

He wasn't sure he could go through the photos Cyndy sent without the pain of a Christmas away from home stabbing him in the heart.

_If I was home, there'd be no question o' Gramma goin' t' Christmas Eve midnight service. 'N' me 'n' Cyndy'd be married, maybe even have a kid o' our own. _

He shook his head furiously to clear it of the thoughts that were tormenting him. Clutching the pictures in one hand and the note in the other, he began to read.

_My darling H. M.,_

_I hope this package gets to you in time for Christmas Day. I tried to figure out what you would like and need over there where you are. _

_The snowball cookies are your Gramma's recipe. I remember how you used to beg her to make them around Christmastime. I figured they must be your favorite. I hope I was right and that you like them._

He took another of the cookies and bit into it, then read on. Cyndy hadn't done a bad job on them, he decided as he finished that one and fished another out of the bag.

_You said in one of your letters how gum helps stabilize the pressure in your ears when you're flying so I included enough for at least a couple of weeks. _

He peeked over at the bag of bubble gum. A couple of weeks? That bag would last for a month at least.

_As far as the comic books, I tried to get the latest copies of The Fantastic Four, Superman and Spiderman for you. _

_The socks were the last things your Gramma was knitting when she had her stroke. _

His eyes misted over when he read that. Gramma was always keeping her hands busy, knitting one thing or another. She was knitting while he was in the hospital during Christmas. He swallowed hard and almost choked on cookie crumbs remembering that.

_She was making them for you so I finished them the way she wanted them to be done, with the thin red stripe near the top. _

He remembered his Gramma teaching Cyndy how to knit one winter when both of them were young teens. Cyndy and he would take the horses on the trail and when they came back, they had mugs of hot cocoa. While the two females worked on a knitting project, he kept them both laughing with his silly impressions of people on the radio.

That was so long ago.

He touched the socks, feeling the thin yarn. Gramma would have bought the best yarn she could find to make them. Maybe sometime when he got a pass to go into DaNang, he would wear them.

_'R save 'em for my weddin' day. _

He didn't know where that thought came from but he pushed it away just as quickly as it came to his mind. The crash and the POW camp experience taught him there might not be a tomorrow for that to happen. Before his thoughts consumed him, he returned to the letter.

_I sent along some photos of home and of all of us for you to look at sometimes. Being over there and seeing as many things as you must be seeing, it might help when you start feeling down or lonely. _

He set aside the photo of the unfamiliar church building with the bell tower for the moment and paged through the other pictures. There was Gramma and Grampa at the nursing home. His heart lurched when he saw the slight sag to the left side of his Gramma's face, evidence of what the stroke had done to her. Gramma was seated and Grampa bent over her from behind, his arms loosely hugging her from behind. They were both grinning as broadly as they could for the camera. The smiles weren't artificial either. They looked happy and that brought him some relief.

The next photo was of Cyndy, her hands on the necks of the two horses they rode together. Flyboy and Paloma were beginning to show their age. He wondered if they would still be alive when he got back to the States. Cyndy cocked her head at the person taking the picture, her hazel eyes squinting a little in the sunlight.

There were photos of the farmhouse, the barn, the old high school, the Baptist church . . . and the mystery church with the bell tower in the top photo.

Puzzled, he read further.

_Pastor Fletcher has asked me to prepare a solo for the Christmas Eve service. Looking through the Christmas carols, I found one that reminds me of our last Christmas together before you left Sour Lake. Do you remember when we woke up Christmas morning in your hospital room? Do you remember what woke us up? I took a picture of St. Anne's to remind you of the bells that were calling people to Mass that morning. I remember you saying that was a sound you would carry with you wherever Christmas Day found you. _

It had been before his Gramma and Grampa came to visit with the presents that were under the farmhouse tree. St. Anne's was only about a block away from the hospital. He ignored the pain from his bruises and surgery and sat up straighter in bed to hold Cyndy close and listen as the bells broadcast the call to worship. With the last echo of the last bell, they kissed.

He hadn't thought of the bells for a couple of Christmases now. In a way, he felt a little guilty for forgetting about them. Her letter continued.

_I'm going to sing 'I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day' to honor you and all of our brave soldiers stationed in Vietnam. But especially you. Pastor Fletcher has said that he will light a candle and say a special prayer for you afterwards. I think of this war and the longing to have you home with us when I think of the words. I hope I can make it through the song without crying. _

_I miss you. Please don't take unnecessary risks. Come home to us safely. _

_All of my love,_

_Cyndy _

She had typed out a copy of the lyrics and attached them to her letter. As he read the third and fourth stanzas, the words blurred until he had to put them down and close his eyes.

_And in despair I bowed my head:_  
_"There is no peace on earth," I said,_  
_"For hate is strong and mocks the song_  
_Of peace on earth, good will to men."_

_Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:_  
_"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;_  
_The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,_  
_With peace on earth, good will to men."_

At the bottom she wrote, "Don't lose hope. Someday the war will end, there will be peace and you'll come back home."

"Maybe someday, Buttercup. Maybe someday," he murmured.


	11. Chapter 11 Wish You a Merry One

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

11 Wish You a Merry One

Of course, this is the season to be jolly, but it is also a good time to be thinking about those who aren't.-Helen Valentine

oooooo

Crazy didn't even begin to describe what B. A. felt after tolerating a half hour of Murdock's gleeful excited chatter about the youth center Christmas party. The only thing that ensured the Sergeant didn't choke the words off at their source was that his hands were needed on the steering wheel.

Every kid and volunteer would have two gifts, one they requested and one they didn't. "Because o' th' green pickle orn'ment tradition," the pilot reminded his team-mate. He started singing a Christmas song under his breath, his gaze taking in the Salvation Army bell ringers and their red kettle at the entrance. Digging his wallet out, he checked to see what he had and palmed a couple of dollars for the bucket.

Even as B. A. parked the van in the discount store lot, Murdock had his seat belt unbuckled and the front passenger's door open.

"Ya wanna fall on yer head an' scramble it even more 'n it is? Wait 'til I've stopped before ya pile out, fool." The Sergeant's words filled the space where the pilot used to be. Murdock was halfway down the double rows of cars and moving quickly to the bell ringers' station.

"Hurry up, Big Guy! We still got a ton o' stuff t' get for th' party!" he called back over his shoulder.

B. A. shook his head and let out an impatient grunt.

_Hannibal owes me one, makin' me take the crazy man ta do the last of the shoppin' for the kids. _

He climbed out and locked the doors. This time of year he wasn't going to leave it wide open for anyone wanting to mess with his ride or what was inside.

B. A. clutched the list of remaining kids' names and what they wanted in one hand and his keys in the other.

_Shouldn' take more 'n a couple o' hours ta get the stuff. _

Murdock slowed his pace just enough to allow the Sergeant to catch up to him. Moving over to B. A.'s side, he gripped the black man's wrist and held his hand up to better see the list.

He read to himself, muttering under his breath, and grinned when he came to Katie's name. "There she is. Katie. 'N' what does my li'l helper want for Christmas b'sides her momma t' get better?"

Murdock frowned when he read the request. "I don' get it, B. A."

"Don't get what, fool?" B. A. stopped and scanned the paper in his hand for himself.

"A sweatshirt, size women's medium, 'n' a lock for her door? No dolly that cries 'n' pees? No princess stuff? I mean, she could ask for jus' 'bout anythin' 'n' I'd make sure she got it." Murdock stared at the page, narrowing his eyes as if trying to get a different meaning from what he saw. "'N' a women's medium? She's gonna drown in somethin' like that, skinny 'n' li'l as she is."

"Yeah, well maybe the shirt's for her momma." The Sergeant shrugged. "Didn' you ever get socks, underwear an' clothes for Christmas when you was growin' up?"

"Okay. Yeah, I get what ya mean. I 'member getting' stuff like that." Murdock's nose wrinkled in obvious distaste. "Not that I wasn' grateful. It was all my Grampa 'n' Gramma could do some years. But what 'bout Katie askin' for a lock for th' door? Ain' somethin' a five-year-old asks for, is it?"

B. A. scowled as he thought about it. He had to admit, the request was unusual.

"Well? Is it?" Murdock pressed in close to get another look at the list like he was hoping he had read wrong.

"No, it ain' but long as I've known her, Katie's been kind of a down-ta-earth li'l girl. Grown up way beyond what you'd think she should be. Wouldn' hurt ta ask her Momma what Katie _really _wants for Christmas." B. A. nodded to himself as he gave it more thought. "Tell ya what. We'll get the rest o' these things an' swing by her apartment an' pay her Momma a visit. _She'll_ know what we can get Katie."

"'N' Katie'll be at th' youth center most o' th' day so she won' know we did it. Good thinkin'."

Murdock's grateful smile was worth the promise he made, B. A. decided.

The Sergeant still couldn't get over the speed with which the pilot was able to set Katie at ease and befriend her. It had taken B. A. a few months before the small girl seemed to trust him. Now she was like his shadow, the way she stayed close to him when he volunteered at the center.

_That is, 'til Murdock got ta know her. _

"I'm gonna get her a sweatshirt like she wants anyway."

Murdock grinned at those words. "Let me pick what it says on it. Can I? I'm good at findin' shirts with stuff that's funny."

B. A. watched the pilot rub his hands together as he said it. With a sigh, he gave in, then added, "But let's hold off on the lock 'til we figure out what's goin' on. Okay?"

"You got it, Big Guy," Murdock agreed, picking up the pace again as they strode toward the store to find the rest of the gifts for the kids. As he passed by the bell ringers he paused and sang a chorus of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' with them, then slipped the money in his hand into the red pail.

oooooo

After dropping the rest of the gifts off at the youth center for Hannibal, Face and Felicity to wrap, B. A. drove to the apartment building where Katie and her mother lived. Once a hotel, the brick structure featured a couple of teen wannabe thugs sitting on the steps leading up to the front doors. One inhaled from what looked to be a hand-rolled cigarette and passed it to his friend. Moments later, the teen exhaled and chuckled at something he found amusing.

Murdock sat up straighter in his seat and scrutinized the kids.

_Okay, so what's with th' gargoyles in front? This ain' no place for a li'l kid like Katie t' live. _

"Let me do the talkin', okay?" B. A. peered at the two before switching off the engine. "An' lock yer door. This ain' one o' your better neighborhoods."

Unwanted memories of being homeless and curling up under the interstate overpass to sleep flooded Murdock's mind. He knew B. A. had grown up in an equally rough neighborhood but until you had only a blanket and a pocketful of keepsakes to your name, a jacket for a pillow and a concrete abutment for a bed . . .

B. A. gave Murdock a surprised glance when the pilot snorted. The Captain narrowed his eyes at the steps where the teens loitered and got a serious look on his face. "This ain' 'xactly my first time 'round these parts, Big Guy. Let's go see what's cookin' with Chip 'n' Dale there, see if they'll let us past 'em."

Leaving B. A. to wonder at what he meant about knowing the neighborhood, Murdock climbed out of the passenger's seat and pulled the ribbed hem of his jacket down before strolling nonchalantly toward the two teens. He stood for a few moments, watching them pass the joint back and forth. Motioning with his head at it, he raised an eyebrow. "Yer mommas know ya smoke weed?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw B. A. tense as the two teens glanced at each other and smirked. One flicked the almost spent butt at Murdock's feet. "What's it to ya? Huh?"

_Hmmm. Tough guy. Wonder if they're tough 's they think they are. _

The pilot bent to pick up the reefer and took a hit off it. Dropping and crushing it under his foot, he grimaced as he breathed out the smoke. "Nothin' I guess." He squinted at the teen and shrugged, stuffing his fists in his pants pockets. "Somebody sold ya a buncha twigs, seeds 'n' shredded leaves. Ya know that, don'tcha? I had better weed in Nam. Hope ya didn' buy any more 'n a nickel bag."

One teen glanced at the other, then got to his feet. His buddy followed suit. As close as Murdock was to the two, he could tell they weren't any older than maybe fifteen or sixteen. He forced himself to remain impassive even though he hated the thought of the wasted lives he witnessed here.

The first teen was lanky like Murdock and almost as tall. He wore flared striped jeans a size too big and a faded red T-shirt with 'Where's the Beef?' written on the front in yellow letters. His high-top tennis shoes were laced only halfway. Shaking his mop of greasy blonde hair back from his eyes, he leapt over the two bottom steps to stand face to face with the pilot.

The other teen had shoulder length black hair and a pinched pale face. He wasn't as tall as either Murdock or his buddy. He wore a black T-shirt with Joe Camel on the front and a pair of blue jeans, ripped over one knee.

He nervously glanced at B. A., sizing him up. He obviously did not like the turn the confrontation had taken. Backing up one step at a time, he kept his eyes on all three until he made it to the top of the steps and the entrance to the building.

"Maybe we should go inside, Zane. These two guys look like they mean business."

The kid in front of the pilot growled, "Shut up, Gary."

"Oh, yeah. I do. I _do_ mean business." Murdock murmured and smiled into Zane's face, his eyes getting a slight manic glint to them. "How 'bout it? Ya wanna know what kind o' business I got in mind?"

He hoped the kid was feeling a little uneasy. If he was that age and someone crazy was challenging _him_, he'd think twice about continuing to stand up to that person, especially if that person had a personal guard the size of a refrigerator with him. Sure enough, Zane's gaze flickered toward B. A. for a brief moment.

_So ya ain' as tough as ya'd like me t' b'lieve. _

Murdock kept his eyes on the thug in front of him and brought his hand out of one pocket. In his fingers he gripped a five dollar bill. "We got someone we wanna talk to in there but my friend here don' think 'is van's safe, even locked up like it is. I got five dollars here that says he's wrong." Murdock gestured toward B. A. and the van as he said it. "What d'ya think, Zane? Ya think this money'll prove 'im wrong?"

The kid squinted at the vehicle and the burly Sergeant before returning his gaze to the pilot. "Make it ten an' nobody'll touch it."

Murdock shook his head, a cold grin on his face, and glanced at B. A. before agreeing. "I guess it's worth ten." He pulled out his wallet and quickly took out another five dollar bill, not letting the youth see any of the rest of the contents. Putting the wallet back and still grasping the money, he raised his eyebrows and added, "Ten dollars should get me some information 'bout a li'l girl named Katie 'n' her Ma _b'sides_ makin' sure our ride ain' damaged."

Zane grabbed for the money but Murdock raised his arm high in the air and out of his reach. "Uh-uh-uh. That's th' deal. Take it 'r leave it."

The teen scowled and stepped back a pace.

Gary swallowed and blurted out the information even though Zane shot him a dark look to shut him up. "Katie? Oh, yeah. She's that twerp in apartment sixteen. Her momma's boyfriend sold us this shit. Figured some of it's going t' help take care of her momma. All ya hear all day long's coughing coming from there."

B. A. spoke for the first time. "Katie didn't ever say nothin' about her momma havin' a boyfriend."

"Yeah, well . . . " Zane hesitated. "He don't exactly like to let anyone know how much he's there. Katie and her momma'd be kicked out if the landlord knew."

"He there right now?" Murdock's sixth sense was tingling, making his stomach turn flip-flops. Something wasn't right about a little girl who made a Christmas gift request for a lock for an apartment door. And then he thought back to the reaction Katie had toward Face. His buddy was able to charm girls and women of all ages to want to be his friend. But not Katie.

Her reaction had set alarms off in his head. He had a bad feeling now about why the little girl avoided Face.

Hadn't B. A. told him how surprised he was that the child had opened up so quickly to him, how she was usually much more comfortable with females? And now that he put it together in his mind, why else would the little girl wear clothes a couple of sizes too big that hid her form almost completely?

_If it's what I think . . . Damn! She's only five! _

The suggestion made him angry and sick inside. But there was no time for that.

_No way do I wanna hurt that sweet li'l girl any more 'n she has been. But we gotta know what kind o' guy this boyfriend is. _

"Naw. He ain' there. He goes down around the school playground every afternoon about this time . . . you know, t' make some money." Zane backed away when he heard the low growl coming from B. A. "Look, man. We told ya everything we know." He looked toward the apartment building entrance to find Gary had slipped away through the doors.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Big Guy?" Murdock muttered, the muscles in his jaw twitching with tension.

"I'm thinkin' we'll wait ta talk ta Katie's momma an' go talk ta this dude instead," B. A. affirmed, punching his open palm with a tightly clenched fist.

Murdock turned to Zane. "Listen. I'll give ya five more bucks if ya come with us 'n' point 'im out. We won' let 'im know who tol' us. Then we'll come on back 'n' you can keep an eye on th' van while we talk t' Katie's Ma. Deal?"

The teen reached for the money again but the pilot put it in his pocket. "Ya don' get th' money 'til ya do what we 'greed to. We got a deal?"

Zane thought for a moment and then bobbed his head up and down. "Yeah, we got a deal. He sold us crap, didn't he? Long as he don't know I put you on to him."

"He won'," Murdock mumbled as he opened the van door for their informant.


	12. Chapter 12 Another Christmas Passes

Murdock's Christmas Dozen

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

12 Another Christmas Passes

One of the nice things about Christmas is that you can make people forget about the past with a present.-Unknown

oooooo

One Year Later

Murdock turned the record player speaker down low in the middle of Bobby Helms singing 'Jingle Bell Rock.' He ignored the glare he received from one teen couple who had been slow dancing despite the upbeat tempo of the song.

"It's th' time we all been waitin' for. Now scoot t' yer places everyone." He made shooing motions with his hands, grinning as he did.

"Ever'body got a chair?" For a couple of seconds he scanned the large group to see if they were all seated. His gaze fell on the two teens B. A. and he got to know over the past year.

Gary sat next to LaVonne, a girl from his high school class who had tutored him over the past three months in math. It was no secret to anyone watching them that their relationship was getting a lot closer.

Zane slouched against the far wall, his hands stuffed in the pockets of a pair of clean boot-cut Levis. The jeans were from a shopping trip for school clothes B. A. and Murdock took him on. They were free as long as the teen promised to start attending school again.

Zane cast a sullen glance at the pilot. Murdock smiled at him and motioned with his head toward an empty seat on the couch. He wasn't surprised when the teen scowled down at the floor to avoid further eye contact.

The Captain sighed.

_Guess B. A. was right. Ya can' reach all o' them. _

His gaze wandered to the entrance to the hallway. It hadn't escaped his attention that Face coaxed his new girl Heidi over in that direction. Peeking up at the ceiling above the couple, Murdock suppressed a smirk.

_Leave it t' my buddy Face t' figure out a nice dark spot t' put up th' mistletoe. When B. A. shuts off th' lights . . . _

"Well? We gonna do this 'r not, fool?" From his place beside the light switch, B. A. looked like he was impatient to get the next part of the Christmas party going.

Murdock sought out Katie among the merry-makers. He found her seated at a table, a glass of undoctored egg nog and three half-eaten iced sugar cookies in front of her. Raising his eyebrows at her as if asking her if they should go ahead, he waited until she smiled at him before nodding to the Sergeant.

"Li'l lady says bombs 'way, Mister B." Katie's delighted giggle reminded him of the previous Christmas when he asked for maraschino cherries and pickles to decorate the youth center. She had giggled then, too.

_But this year that li'l gal's laugh's music t' my ears, knowin' what she's been through. _

He met the Sergeant's gaze and knew he was feeling the same thing, even though he would never admit it.

B. A. turned the lights down low and waited for all the volunteers and youth center clients to settle in.

"Now hush up, ever'body, 'r th' Christmas magic can't be done," Murdock said in a dramatic stage whisper. From the opposite side of the room, Zane snorted but even he trained his attention on what the Sergeant was about to do. Murdock put his forefinger to his lips and gave B. A. a sharp nod when all was quiet.

A second later every colorful Christmas light on the tree and around the room turned on and began their sequenced twinkling. They cast a gently flashing soft glow around the room. The volunteers and the younger children including Katie applauded.

Katie stood and crept over to where Murdock stood. Gripping his hand in hers, she smiled up at him and then at the tree. The green glass pickles hung all over it reflected the sparkle of red, white, blue and green miniature lights.

"It really does look like Christmas magic, Murdock," she murmured in a way that put a lump in his throat.

The pilot squeezed the small child's hand as he pointed out the cranberry and popcorn garland they worked on together over the last month. He let his eyes wander over to the door, wondering what was keeping Hannibal from making his entry. Under the mistletoe, Face and Heidi engaged in their own moment of Christmas magic.

_Jus' keep it clean, Faceman. Keep it clean. This's a G-rated party after all. _

Someone rapped sharply at the door. "Well, I wonder who that is?" Murdock made his voice drip with shocked puzzlement. "Would ya come with me t' see, Katie?"

The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement when he saw every eye in the place, including those of Face and Heidi, were turned toward them as they made their way to the door. B. A. would have made a better Santa Claus than Hannibal but his absence from the party would have aroused suspicion among the younger children who still believed.

He gave Katie one last mock-bewildered shrug before opening the door.

"Santa!" Katie's eyes widened and her mouth formed a small 'o' as the man in white-fur-trimmed red stomped in with a "Merry Christmas everyone!"

"I was startin' t' think yer reindeer ran outta gas, Santa," Murdock muttered as he stood beside Hannibal and offered to take the bag of extra gifts from his shoulder. "'N' I'm not sure Santa ever had an unlit cigar in his mouth."

"The evil Decker elves were after Santa and his goodies, Captain, and I had to figure out how to ditch them. And I won't light the cigar until after I leave." The older man grinned. Murdock couldn't tell if the twinkle in his eyes was a part of the Santa disguise or from 'the jazz.' "Now where do you want me to be when I pass out these gifts?"

"Come on over t' th' tree 'n' have a seat, Santa." The Captain made sure Hannibal was comfortable before he placed the gift bag beside him. Bending down, Murdock whispered to Katie, "Why don'tcha get Santa a glass o' milk 'n' a few o' those cookies we dec'rated t'day?"

As the little girl hurried to the counter to get the items, Hannibal noted the short-sleeved red frilly holiday dress she wore. He nodded after her . "What a difference a year makes, Captain. You and B. A. assured that little girl's Christmas was better last year and for many years to come, I think."

Even though the events of that Christmas were a year ago, Murdock fisted his hands in memory of the bruises he knew Katie had hidden for so long. "He ain' gonna be sellin' drugs t' no li'l kids for a good long time. B. A. made sure o' that. 'N' th' money we put t'gether for her Momma paid th' doctor bills."

"And that little girl's going to be able to heal with that scumball out of her life for good." Even though the words sounded like a matter-of-fact statement, Murdock got the feeling there was an unspoken question behind the Colonel's words.

_He wants t' know how I knew somethin' was deep down wrong. Maybe even what kind o' wounds Katie's gonna hafta deal with. How do I answer that? _

He stole a quick look at Hannibal and noticed him scrutinizing his reaction to what he said. "You did _good_, Captain. She's got an opportunity to be a little girl and grow up now without being afraid of the adults in her life."

Murdock nodded, a frown on his face as he remembered his own childhood. "Yer right. Kid shouldn' hafta grow up 'fraid."

The Colonel took a gift out of the bag and turned it over and over in his hands before speaking. "No kid should have to, Captain." When he looked at Murdock again, it was as if his blue eyes pierced through all the years and saw the pilot's own painful memories. "No kid should have to. You going to be alright?"

Murdock nodded, looking down at the gifts, avoiding the older man's eyes. "Let's start gettin' these handed out b'fore th' kids think they ain' gettin' nothin' from Santa."

Hannibal continued to stare at the pilot, then shrugged. "Alright. Here comes Katie with my milk and cookies." He handed the gift he held in his hands to Murdock. "This one's for Zane."

oooooo

AN: This was the last one in this series. I didn't want to leave it unfinished. I will now be returning to the other stories I was writing before the holidays. Thanks for hanging in there with me through this series.


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